It was a comparative lack of personal devastation to come home to. The worst of it was my husband's '67 Ford Galaxie 500, stacked headlights, factory air, imploded from months under water. I dated him because of that car.
It's still there -- he has aspirations of making what's left of the hood a coffee table or giant wall monument.
My family photos, all the memorabilia is there for me to dig through when I'm ready. So yes I'm homesick, and yes this has been a crappy two years.
But with boxes of photos of my dad, I still wake up lucky every day.
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