A Skipping Heart

After my parents died, it was emotional to return to my hometown.  Whenever I  reached the Northgate Mall exit in Durham – a few miles from Chapel Hill – my heart would skip.  I was almost home.

Years later, after living in Our Nation’s Capital for 22 years, it was emotional to return after we left.  When I flew into National Airport, my heart would skip.  The Capitol. The Potomac. It signaled home to me.

So . . . as I flew into Midway Airport yesterday, I’d been sleeping in seat 2E on my Southwest flight when the pilot announced that we would be landing momentarily.  And I opened my eyes to see Lake Michigan over my neighbor in 2F and  . . .  my heart skipped for the first time since I’ve moved to Chicagoland.  After three years, I think I’m home.