Still Coming Home: A Quiet Journey of Healing and Breath
For my mother, whose kindness still teaches me how to breathe.
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A SKY FULL OF CONVERSATIONS
After the long miles and the empty roads, home felt both familiar and foreign. The silence was heavier now, not sad…just filled with everything I’d seen and felt along the way. The journey had ended, but something in me still kept travelling.
Some evenings, I step outside and tilt my head toward the night sky. The air is cooler here, touched by the memory of sea wind and highway dust.
Somewhere above the rooftops, there’s always one bright star that finds me first. It’s the one I’ve chosen to speak to; the one that feels like her.
It isn’t about believing she’s truly there. It’s about the feeling of that small shimmer of connection, that asks for nothing in return.
I talk to her about the road, the music that carried me through, the moments I laughed alone in the car, the tears that surprised me at red lights.
I tell her I’m learning, slowly,
to-breathe-again.
Sometimes I fall quiet and just listen. The wind moves softly, and I imagine her in that hush; patient, kind, smiling the way she used to when words weren’t needed.
The star never flickers out. It simply waits, glowing steady, like love does when it changes form; becoming light, becoming sky, becoming memory.
Pause and breathe — what stirred within you?
Notes / What I Felt:
Grief can soften into grace.
Love still answers, even in silence.
The road home is not a place, but a feeling.
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