I know that we’re exactly where we need to be when we need to be there. The problem is, it’s not always where we want to be and Lord knows, sometimes it hurts to be there. Sometimes, you’re just plain old mad because you just don’t want to be there. That was me back in August 2013.
The divorce had been final for months and I had reluctantly decided to move back home to Louisiana. As I’ve said before, moving back home represented failure to me. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’ve always been extremely close to my family but had become accustomed to living miles and miles away from them. These days, I can’t imagine being more than an hour away from them. This is especially true of my mother. I hate what dementia is doing to her. It crushes my heart to hear her speak of the past as if its her present. The fact that she asks the same question three or four times in a 15-minute span destroys me. Although her sense of humor is amazing, the disease is what shines through.
I landed in the little town of Cotton Valley, which is 10 minutes from my hometown of Sarepta, and for the longest time, I made fun of the entire premise of this area. I get to see my mama, one of my sister and two of my brothers everyday. The nephew that I am extremely close to is my next door neighbor. Eventually, I’ll move to the Bossier area but no farther. I won’t be away from my family. It helps that my boyfriend’s family is from a neighboring town. My son is college three hours away. Had I stayed in Dallas, it would have been a five-hour drive. I’m exactly where I need to be.