So, if the reports are true, the worst case scenario did not come to fruition, and my Home exists. My parent’s house and its contents are another question, as they evacuated to a couple of hours away and have not yet been allowed to return. But, the city of New Orleans is still there, despite the flooding and broken bits. Thanks to all of you for your good thoughts.
Over the past six months, I’ve come to a greater recognition of the attachment I have to New Orleans. No matter how much I love my husband and the feeling of home we’ve created, New Orleans will always be Home. From the early days of my pregnancy, I felt homesick – it wasn’t just a longing to spend time with my parents, it was a longing to return Home, to New Orleans. I finally had an understanding of those stories I’d read in the past, of women who would place some dirt from their hometown under the bed while giving birth, so that their children would be born over southern soil. No, I’m not going to do that, I just have a greater understanding of that mentality now. Something about being pregnant has brought out my attachment to my primordial home.
It’s not an attachment that requires me to move there. (Which is good, because one thing we discovered on our recent visit is that we can’t afford to do that). It’s an attachment that makes me never want to go longer than a year between visits. It’s an attachment that makes me glad I got to see the city in its intact state a couple of weeks ago. It’s an attachment that makes me wish I could go there and help pick up the pieces. It’s an attachment that makes me glad the place I call Home dodged what could have been a lot worse.