We head home this weekend, except now home consists of a hotel room and meals eaten out.

Funny how I still call this place home when I no longer have a “home” there.

We venture back every fall so my girls can feel the place were I spent my formative years.

There will be a trip to Primanti’s were my girls will question how I could possible eat anything that consists of egg, coleslaw, french fries and meat slapped between two pieces of bread.

We will head to the farm where I picked my first pumpkins. The place where my bothers and I always had a contest to see who could pick the biggest pumpkin and carry it back to the car unassisted.

We will venture to the Strip and find crazy, cheap t-shirts that we will wear only once before they shrink down to Ellie’s size.

I will walk down streets that will overwhelm me with memories.

I will feel his presence in the strangest places- the rest stop on Highway 70, watching the leaves in Frick Park and in the smile of the women helping us check out at the market.

I go home just as much for them to know me as I do for them to know him.

I hear his voice reminding me as he often did that home is simply any place we are together.


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