Saved as draft - 3/14/06
Mark and Jane decided to stay another week. Only because my mother was having surgery on her back - that part they made very clear. They've been here for a lengthy trip of two months, because Jane has missed it here so much. Even though she loves her life with Mark in Paris, I can see the disdain in her eyes whenever someone mentions going back. Plus, I fear my parents will die without a granddaughter to flaunt around the neighborhood, or read fictitious fairy-tales to late at night. If Jane leaves, and I decide not to go with her, I feel like my family will be broken apart in a new, different way than before. Isabelle changed things, I suppose. Every time I see her face, my sister in her eyes and my brother-in-law in her smile, I ask myself, "How could she not have?"
As I write this, I'm staring at the little statue I have of the Eiffel Tower on my dresser. I'm wondering how it seems that a life back home, here in Vermont, seems like a new chapter in comparison to a place a whole continent over. Maybe I don't have to go to new places to become a new person, even though that was the way it worked last time.
Maybe I can keep improving this new person here at home, where a new part of my life will start in the fall. A set-up for a new job, college, and friends is what I have waiting for me. Perhaps, in order to figure out who I really am, I just needed to come back home. Not to say that leaving wasn't necessary, because I think it was. But here, here is where I am. And here is my home.
Here is my family. Here is you. Here is so many things.
Most importantly, here is me.
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