A week away from California is...

Missing California.

Missing my roommate. 

Missing my cat. 

Missing, most of all, my boy.

Dad's eulogy that made people laugh and cry. 

Dad being part Dad and part Pastor Tom, but mostly Dad. 

A week away from California is my nephew asleep in my brother's arms,

being carried out of the church. 

A week away from California is playing with my brothers

Scaring each other in a creepy, bizarre "museum."

Laughing each time we got scared,

Looking for more ways to make the others scream. 

A week away is two days in the car with my biggest bro, 

impatiently counting the miles to Denver as I stitch. 

Catching up on each other's lives. Catching up on much needed

Laughing.

A week away is meeting my nephew, 

almost one,

crooked smile,

six teeth.

A week away is a kiss on the cheek from Patrick,
hugs from aunts and uncles.
An ecstatic mom, and a contented dad,
so happy to see their daughter, and me them. 

Nintendo with Riley on the couch, 

Giggling as we remember all of the game's musical jingles. 

Coffee reheated in the microwave, cookies for breakfast.

Sleeping for 12 hours and then taking a nap. 

A week away is being tearful on the phone with Alex, 

caught off guard by the sadness I feel in the Midwest. 

My sweet beau suggests maybe I am grieving for the life I used to live,

when I was out of place and sad. 

A week away is red wine in a paper cup,

on a hotel bed, having girl talk with Mom.

Waking up Dad in his blue pajamas

to show him my half marathon medal. 

A week away is catching a niece who jumps in the pool. 

Watching my brothers belly flop and yell,

Smiling that they've never grown up. 

A week away is sore arms, from all the catching of the jumping niece. 

A week away is a cranky brother,

who needs coffee and hates traffic. 

A week away is sleeping in four beds in six nights, 

One that creaks, one with a slow air leak. 

Breakfast dates span the week, 

Early alarms, ignoring the option to snooze. 

Toast with cousins, coffee with Corie, 

Hot cakes and sausage with the niece, the nephew, Mom and Dad. 

A week away is my cousin's pregnant belly,

new life in the midst of life lost. 

A week away is weeping aunts, 

comforted by a brother, and a son. 

A week away is hiking in the heat. 

Sweating through my shirt, 

realizing we left Gatorade behind in the car. 

The baby asleep, riding on his daddy's back. 

A week away is aches in my legs,
balancing in heels on a hilly graveside.
Roses for Grandma,
lying once again beside Gramps, her love.

A week away is being ready to return,
Eager to see boy, and roommate, and cat.
I am promised fireworks,
viewed from a rooftop.

A week away is worth every moment.
The lack of sleep,
the miles in the car.
Time with family, blood and otherwise.