One of my final meetings with my divorce attorney was to discuss the division of property. A topic I thought I had prepared myself for from the moment I decided to continue on and choose another path. Not wanting to fight over any materialistic items, I was more than okay with walking away with less than half of the personal belongings. I was ready to move on. By this time I was already settled into my own place and life as I now know it, was already in full gear. Then came to the part when my attorney asked about the house purchased prior to the marriage. I was being offered a buy-out. Though, I already knew this was coming and financially I was ready to make the split, a piece of me was not ready to let go of the place I had thought I had finally grown roots in.
As a child born into a military family, moving became easier over time. I trained myself not to become attached to things, places, pets or people. I was accustomed to people coming in and out. I became accustomed to not getting close to anyone or anything.
As I grew up, the typical question of being asked where I’m from became increasingly harder to answer. Do I give people a pie chart of the places I’ve lived?
So here I was, 23 and buying my first home. I remember having the conversation of not wanting a “starter home”, I wanted my forever home, I wanted to finally grow roots somewhere. I wanted to have the house I raised my kids in, the house my kids would bring their kids to. The house that we would slowly add on to.
Walking away from the place I called home for 12 years was heart breaking. Once again, here I was starting all over. The reality of me being uprooted started to settle in. Starting over with getting to know people, one of the first questions asked; “Where are you from?”
Sitting in my car crying, I realized I don’t have roots to any one place. I don’t have one particular place that I call my hometown. There is not one place that I feel is the true essence of home.
I am a girl born in the desert; I have lived in Germany; I have spent time between Southern Maryland and Virginia, with the majority of my life being spent in Delaware. The house I purchased was the house I had lived in the longest and what had once felt like home, was now only an address on the list of places I have lived.
For those of us who have moved more times than we can count, our roots are not where we live. Our roots are with those we love most. My roots are my family and my closest friends, and no matter where I am they will always be there no matter how many miles away.