However far I wander, and whatever adventures I may find on my path through this world, I will always know what home feels like.
Home is two warm arms that fold around me and hold me close whether I am walking through the international arrival gate after weeks away, or the front door of our house after a day’s work.
Home is the smell of clean laundry drying under the sun, soft skin perfumed only by sunshine and the barest hint of moisturiser and sweet English breakfast tea.
Home is piles of paperbacks and passages read aloud over the breakfast table before school, sing-a-longs in the car on the way to the markets (Roy Orbison’s got nothin’ on us), and whispered “I love yous” before bed, every night.
Home is storm blue eyes that twinkle with happiness, tear up in sympathy, and always, always watch with care and pride.
Home is M*A*S*H* marathons on winter school holidays, fresh scones on Sunday afternoons served with globs of whipped cream and raspberry jam, and always being allowed to lick the cookie dough bowl.
Home is welcoming strangers like old friends, never running out of advice for any problem, and having a lap that is big enough to crawl into when nightmares knock on your door.
Home is a hand to hold onto when I am scared to take the next leap, a keen ear to listen to my dreams (however crazy they might be), and a muse when I am running out of ideas.
Home is you. Home is Mum.
Happy Mother’s Day.
I Love you Mama.