Home is the heartbeat of my patient as they roll off the ambulance; rapid, pressured like the speech of the lady in the psych back hallway.

Home is chaos, a tumult of sea-salt smelling air rushing off the ocean as we arrive at the coast.

Home is warmth, a hot chocolate after a long ski day when the kids’ cheeks are apples and my hands are frozen meat.

Home is delicious, spicy, sweet all at once like moroccan salmon cooked by my husband after a long shift, the taste of my son’s cheek in bed in the morning.

Home smells like my daughter’s breath as she sings pop songs off key with such joy and lack of self-consciousness.

Home is pinks, oranges, greens of orchids and lettuce we planted last night, watermelon fresh cut dripping sticky juice on just washed counter.

Home is all of it, and when I stick out my tongue in the backyard to catch snow with my children, home is the hearts we have woven together that I can hear beating in the quiet of night bringing peace to my mind and joy to my heart.

Home is knowing, just knowing, that all is safe and right.

 

Written at a wellness conference for Canadian women physicians.

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