Monday, April 6, 2015


It's not all too often that I get homesick for Florida. I always wanted to "move away" not because I disliked home but because I had too much of a sense of adventure and thought the world was too big to simply live in the same coordinates all my life. Fact, I even created a list of all of the cites and countries that I wanted to live in at some point in my life. Granted, I was much younger when this list was initially created so the reality of the cost and feasibility of actually living all of those places have set in. It cost me about $3,000 each time I decided to move in Charlotte. I couldn't imagine the cost to cross the pond and I don't even want to think about investing a couple thousand into a plane ticket for Henry. (You think he would ride with luggage? HA!) 

Anyways, Easter weekend creeped up on me this year. I knew it was coming (and I was certainly counting down to my reunion with sweets) but it didn't really hit me that it was THIS weekend until I realized majority of my Charlotte friends would be traveling out of town and I was one of the few left here. As I ran errands this weekend, I noticed that everyone seemed to be with families. You could sense that families were reconnecting and catching up. I would pass moms and daughters shopping together in boutiques. Families enjoying leisurely brunches for hours on end. I felt a tinsy bit homesick for my own family. 

Easter was never an overly traditionalized holiday for my family. I vaguely remember Easter egg hunts at my great grandmother's house from when I was younger (mostly from pictures) but my family didn't necessarily have any traditions ourselves. It was always simple. Mass, brunch out, then possible beach/pool/movie day, sprinkled with an excessive amount of chocolate to create an overall, good holiday. 

I remember freshman year of college, Easter fell over spring break. I had signed up for the spring break mission trip to New Orleans (still, never been) and even gone as far as put my duffle into the van the night before departure. I remember sitting in my dorm room, watching everyone slowly trickle out to be with their families for the first spring break of college and I had a break down. Called my Dad in absolute hysterics about how I didn't want to go New Orleans and I just wanted to be home. So what did I do? Packed up the Hummer with the little spring clothes I hadn't sent to New Orleans and drove to Florida. 

This year, I wanted to drive to Florida. I spent most of the weekend binge watching Netflix with Henry and thinking about being home with my family. I went to mass solo on Easter Sunday and was surrounded by families where I had to wait during the offering of the peace for someone to turn to their neighbor which is even more awkward on Easter when it seems like no one else came to church solo. I've seen my parents three times already this year (they brought Henry to Charlotte after Uganda, then Orlando, and New York) and I'm going home for an extended time Memorial Day weekend, but I really wanted to be home this weekend. 

I realize this post may sound like the most depressing thing. Ever. I think it's just as important to share the happy moments as the sadder moments.  It is difficult living a six hour drive from family and not having any family or someone else's family to spend a holiday with. The next few weekends are packed so I know I will be thankful for this restful one. I think it's ok to miss home every once in a while. 



PS. Mom, I promise, I'm fine. Please don't freak out. :) 

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