At the beginning of summer, we moved home. For 15 years, we lived in Indianapolis: met each other, finished our degrees, got married, started our careers, bought houses, welcomed our babies, forged friendships, found community, and built our life. Then in the spring, home- the notion of home, the feeling, the longing- beckoned to us. We heard its call, and we returned.
In 2020, our son was 10 months old, and we visited the house that would be ours for the next 5 1/2 years in NW Indy. He was in a baby carrier on my chest, but as we walked through the front door, I could see, as clear as day, a Christmas morning in the future with him trundling down the stairs to check the Christmas tree. I could see us spending our time in the backyard, a playset, a garden, multiple foam swords, a potential playmate who had yet to arrive. I could see the happiest of lives laid out in that house- ours to take with an accepted offer.
This past April, it happened again, but in a different part of the state, a region we never had really planned on returning to. But the second house we saw called just as loud as the house in 2020. This one, however, as a forever home.
So, we pulled up stakes. In an absolute whirlwind, we relocated. I left a job and a team I loved. The kids had tearful goodbyes at their schools. I took a last look at so many of the places that formed the memories of my children’s early childhood, of my transition into motherhood, into marriage, into early adulthood marked by the independence of leaving for college. For a while, the excitement of the brand new was marred by a bitter feeling I can only describe as loss that decorated the edges of our days. But, as is true for so much, time heals all wounds. Where I once woke up in the morning and looked around, wondering where I was and how I ended up there, I now wake up, and it feels like I have never been anywhere else.
What drew us North was family, the opportunity for our kids to grow up with their cousins, the gift of time spent with parents who are getting older every day, grandparents who are beginning to dwindle in number. This has been everything I hoped it would be. The kids and I have spent two days a week at my parents’ pool. They have seen their other set of grandparents for drop-by visits that had not been possible when we lived in central Indiana. My husband’s grandma has spent time with us before she flies back to Florida with the rest of the snowbirds. Weekly family dinners, Saturday morning rec league basketball, the ability to help with household projects- all of these things are so normal for us now but were previously impossible with the distance. It has been life-changing for us to move back to where our family is. My sister told me her daughter asked her when she gets to see her cousins today. Before, it was major holidays and birthdays, maybe a three-day weekend. Nowadays, it’s called a Tuesday. Or a Thursday.
Our wild and crazy summer of new ends this week (second week of August). Our son starts at a new elementary school, our daughter at a new preschool, and I start in a new school corporation and job as I transition out of general education to applied skills. I know there will be challenges and hard days, but I also know our family surrounds us and can help. I will always be an Indianapolis mom, but my heart is so full to be raising my kids where I myself was raised.
