When are you coming home?

That's what she asked me last weekend. ....When are you coming home.

Jeeeeezzzzzuuussss! Is that why I've not wanted to go back to visit? Is it that I didn't want to think about unfinished business? Is it because I didn't want to think that maybe I've been running away from something all these years?

She wanted to know why I'd run from the land I loved.

She wanted to know if I still felt the leaves change, the air grow cool, the wind become biting. Did I remember the feel of a wool sweater against my skin, thick socks warming my feet, gloves keeping my fingers capable of movement, the way clothes hung out on a line to dry became brittle, cuddling with my dog for warmth, slipping under a blanket while watching tv and sipping hot chocolate.

Do you remember home, she asked.

Well....yes, I answered. But....I thought maybe you'd fixed all the problems while I've been away. I've got more than enough problems to deal with in my adopted home.

She looked at me. Which set of problems are yours, she asked.

Shit! All I wanted to do was go home to see the football team that owns my heart play a g-d-damned football game.

I get there and people come out of the woodwork with needs and demands.

When are you coming home, they ask.