Long Way Home

When he was 16, his mom kicked him out of the house
“Go find who you are” is all she said.

His mother had been everything: parent, mentor, friend. That day, she became the first person to let him go.

He took a small bag and an even smaller sense of self and left.

The next 25 years he did exactly what she told him to, he tried to find himself.
In small town and big cities, in cheap hostels and shared apartments. In woman who stayed too long and friends who left too soon.
Every time he thought he found himself, life changed.

He came back home, once, years later, not for long, just passing through.
His mothers hair was thinner, her voice softer. She made him pancakes and asked questions she did not want answers to. He told her he was doing fine. “fine” had become his favorite lie.

“Have you ever told him you are sorry?” his aunt asked her long after he had left.
His mother sighed “How will that help?”
Her sister said quietly “Question is, how will that hurt?”

When his mother passed away, he found the note she had written but never shared.
It was short and direct, just like her temper.

If you still have not found who you are, that is okay. Maybe you were never lost, you were just looking too far away.

Standing next to her grave, he realized he spent longer searching for himself than he had ever known her.

He quietly whispered into the air “Now I have to remember you for longer than I have known you”