“I don’t care if we have our house, or a cliff ledge, or a cardboard box. Home is wherever we all are, together,”
~ James Patterson
It hasn’t been the same, without Ben at home – while we’ve here, in the city, waiting for him to be well enough to leave hospital.
We’re not used to city life anymore. I’m realising how much time I spend in my garden back at the farm. How much I rely on my vegetable patch and my pots of herbs. How conditioned I am to having access to fresh produce at the roadside stalls and farmers markets. In Brisbane the vegetables I buy are already old. There is nowhere to compost my scraps. No cows waiting at the fence for the tops of the beetroot, or a frilly edge of lettuce or cabbage leaf. It feels quite disconnected.
The dogs have slouched around during the day, sleeping fretfully or standing by the door, gazing out over the street, waiting for Ben to return, waiting for us to all climb into the truck and head back to the farm. They are yearning to get home to the paddocks, to run wild down on the flats, to swim in the river and dams, to have the wind in their hair and the sun on their back. So am I. We’re all so homesick.
At night the dogs have been on high alert, keeping me safe from cars going down the street, possums on the roof, pedestrians and neighbourhood cats. Of course, with all of the G20 helicopters roaring around the Brisbane rooftops at all hours of the night, the stimulation level has been insane. All night Harry and Bert tense and bark and worry, protecting me from threat. It’s exhausting for them, after which they mostly sleep during the day. Me? I’m so sleep-deprived I feel like a new mother.
But today Ben is home, and the feeling we all have is relief. To all be together, no matter where we are, is enough.
We need to stay in the city a little longer, close to hospitals while Ben completes his recovery. That’s okay. We’ll nap and catch up on some rest.
It will all be fine. Home is here, in our hearts.
Harry sums it up well for all of us…
We just can’t stop smiling!