This is home

When I rock in the wooden chair that’s been a staple in our home since the day we brought Ava home, I can hear them breathing – the three children I get to call my own.

The sighs in the dark as they exhale and drift off to sleep.  Their gentle sounds wash over me like waves to where I sit, with eyes so heavy and a heart so full. My feet push back and forth and the chair cradles me as I cradle her and I count blessings.  Stillness.  Breath.  Life.  Joy.  Blessings.

I gently sing, "peace, peace, wonderful peace, drifting down from the Father above..."

I lay her down and gently close the door, stepping over the tiara and babydoll that lay abandoned in the hallway. I pick up the strawberry shortcake socks that missed the laundry basket by several feet. I drain the bubble bath water that someone forgot to empty.  I put Heidi's shoes away. She always leaves them in the same spot.  And not the spot where I ask her to put them.  But the same spot every time.  I notice London's perfectly lined row of shoes.  Not one out of place.  And Ava's are scattered everywhere throughout the house.  One shoe here.  One shoe there.  It's as if they fall off without her even noticing. 

I finally find rest on the couch next to my love. I count the years and hours we’ve been together.  I think briefly about where we’ve been and where we’re going because I know I can always count on him. No matter where life leads us, this is home. Not this house, but these people. This feeling. These faces and noises and voices and breaths in the dark.

This is home.