“It hurts to live after someone has died”. This statement in Michelle Obama’s new book Becoming reaches me so deep. And as I enter year 18, it still hurts. Being born and raised in Gary, Indiana is something that I have always been proud of. But I no longer consider it home. Which is a big part of why I don’t go home as often as I once did. My personal detachment from “home” is a combination of things despite the many opinions of others. 

I graduated with my Bachelors degree in 2003 and then five years later with my Master degree in 2008. Working in collegiate athletics, I had to go where the job was to increase my status and my coin. And as a single mother, it all depended on me to ends meet. Because of this combination, the visits to our hometown became less and less. We started new traditions amongst ourselves and spent time with friends that became family. Isn’t that what we’re taught growing up? To leave the nest and build your own home. So why the disappointment when one doesn’t return home?  We have lived in three different states since I earned my Masters degree. We have seen different parts of the country and some international destinations that tug on our hearts and minds of wanting more. 

Change is hard but without it we would never grow into better versions of ourselves. I admit, I’m a work in progress. There is still so much for me to continue to learn from and grow to become. Thanksgiving is a time to be with family. Or that’s what Hallmark and the shopping industry has molded it to be. There’s a saying that home is where the heart is. Well, my home isn’t in my hometown anymore. The things that once drew me back month after month, year after year are no longer there. 

I struggle with Thanksgiving because my traditions have changed and a part of me is still running from something that’s there. I have worked in and with collegiate athletics for 10 years now. Thanksgiving is a time of college football games or college basketball tournaments at various all inclusive resorts. Not times with immediate family and definitely not in the hometown. And Thanksgiving is a hard memory for me that I must endure every year. I buried my mother during the week of Thanksgiving and that memory will never go away. But over the years, I’ve learned my triggers and know when and if I can be mentally stable in the hometown. That’s not always and that’s okay. The pain is real and present; sorrowful and joyful. I put a happy face on to avoid the questioning outsiders that have no clue as to the many levels of emotion that stir up inside of me during this time. As well as to keep my mental status in the positive space that I have been practicing for a few years now. 

Life is short and not to be wasted. I am thankful for that realization and my way of processing it.

~Kelli