I’ve been sitting here listening to a Rammstein playlist for over an hour and trying to figure out how to write tonight’s story. What’s making it so difficult? I think it’s because I’m trying to find a way to explain how essential it was for me to come home…and how all the people and places and experiences fit in. But here’s the truth of it all; it can’t be summed up in one post. So, instead I’ll just tell you where I was this evening.
After a particularly hectic day, we went over to the Manning’s tonight for a quick catch up. I’ve been at the Manning’s place periodically for around 33 years. I’ve cried there and laughed there and drank too much there. I’ve slept on the floor, and on the swing, and in a bed, and on a couch there. I’ve eaten food that I’ve never heard of before, while listening to the most beautiful piano being played there. I learned what true friendship was there (thank you Laura…). I was taught that it was safe to tell the truth there. And, I found my first taste of trust and freedom there.
As a teenager when my world was falling apart (and it fell apart quite regularly) the Mannings were there. And not just mom and dad Manning either…Laura, Bruce and David all took a turn at being my sanity, whether they knew it or not.
Everyone needs a safe haven when they are growing up. This was mine. And, on coming home after 30 years away I realized, it still is.