Home is where the heart - and healing? - is

th From the Jersey Shore" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" width="240" height="226">Image by Sister72 via Flickr

Rolan and I talk every night. We check in and check up on each other, learning about what happened during the day. Dishing. Commiserating. Supporting each other and enjoying each other as best as two people can when they are separated by 861 miles.

She is worried about me. I was wheezing during our conversation on Sunday night (things seem better today). We talked, said goodnight about 11 p.m.

Then she called about midnight because she could not sleep.

“I am worried about you. I do not want to lose anyone else and I do not want to lose you.”

This has been a tough year. Her uncle died of complications of lung cancer. Her grandmother is in the hospital after breaking her hip. In between, sarcoidosis rears its ugly head and lays me out for days. I’m recovering, but it is slow going.

Rolan wants me to come home. My mom wants me to come home (823 miles separate us). All my peeps in the East who know about my fight with sarcoidosis want me back.

Rolan, my mom, they are both right. One of my doctors even recommended that taking off the summer and going home to New Jersey would be a good idea. Get some rest, she said. Let your family love, support you and draw strength from them, she said.

If Rolan or my mom were sick and needed me, I would pack up and go back home to support them. No thought involved. Things are tough, but jobs can be replaced. Once a person goes, they are gone for good.

No doubt, you have read about my good friends here in Chicago – and I must stress that they are awesome. But can anything beat the home cooking that nourished you or the look of love and admiration from someone who’s know you for years (for forever)?

Home….hmmmm…