The Meaning of Home

As I turn the key to unlock the door, the sweet aroma of cookies warms my heart. I remember the smell of sweat and loneliness creeping through the door of the shelter. As I look at the beautiful, happy smile on my mom’s face welcoming me in, I remember the fear in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around us to keep us safe. As I walk into the other room and see the little hands of my younger sister and brother playing joyfully with their toys on our warm floor, I remember their hands holding each fearfully tight sitting on the cold bed in our room. As I sit at the table surrounded by my family feeling the love and sharing a meal. I remember the love we felt for each of the strangers sitting around the communal table at the shelter sharing a meal. As I snuggle my soft blue blanket on my new bed and freely turn. I remember the screeching noise of my bed in the shelter and how I kept myself from turning to not wake anyone up. As we run towards the door to greet our dad with a hug and lots of kisses, I remember the tearful nights where we had to give him kisses and hugs for him to keep in his heart as he was separated from us at the shelter. As I close my eyes to say a thankful prayer, I remember my quiet tearful prayers dreaming of a miracle, A MIRACLE called HOME.