Searching

I couldn't wait until graduation! My senior year of high school had seemed to be in slow motion. I thought the day would never arrive until I would have the freedom that I craved. Freedom! I would leave this small, insignificant excuse of a town to spread my wings.

After all, this wasn't exactly a hub of excitement. With its population of less than 5,000, it seemed that everyone knew everyone else's business. They were always talking and butting their noses into places that they didn't belong. If something happened at school, my parents knew about it before I reached home in the afternoon! There were no shopping Mecca's, no fast food restaurants, nor fine-dining experiences, either. Quite literally, there was nothing here--nothing but quiet streets of neat little cookie-cutter homes. The quiet was maddening!

I wanted excitement; the bright lights of the city! I had applied and been accepted to an Ivy League College. My grades were such that I had earned a full academic scholarship. I was finally going to leave. Yes, I would miss my parents a little, but, I could visit anytime, I reasoned. Right now, I HAD to escape or go completely mad.

Graduation finally arrived. My class had only 25 members, so the ceremony was brief. After the last cap had touched the ground, the entire crowd adjourned to the town park for a picnic. I knew that this was probably the last time that I would see some of these people, but I really didn't care. They weren't important to me. I was leaving, and would not be coming back. After all, I had lived among them for eighteen years, and that was at least seventeen years too long.

Tomorrow, I would be getting on a Greyhound bus and leaving to find adventure. Summer orientation for new students would begin in just a few days. I was going to be moving into a Freshman dorm on campus, and I had received special permission to arrive early to get settled in.

Finally, I was on my way! The day had dawned with a rain shower. What a fitting start to my last day in this sorry little place! I knew I would not look back. There would be no regrets at leaving—EVER!

The college campus was the most welcoming sight that I had ever seen. Huge shade trees dotted it here and there creating a canopy that begged students to rest beneath their boughs. English ivy climbed the old brick walls of the structures. I wondered how many, like me, had walked through these halls and felt as I did. I was in awe!

I found my room. For now, I was alone. The silence was deafening. But, it was a silence that I came to love. I knew that this was the beginning of my life. I would cherish it from this point on. Orientation began. I met many of the freshman class, and made friends among them. I found that there were only a scant few who came from backgrounds like mine. Most of them were from Boston or New York or other big cities. They were "legacies" to the school with fathers or mothers, or in some cases both, who had preceded them through these hallowed doors. Upon receipt of their degree, they would return to the family tradition. These students vacationed in Europe, had second and third homes in places that I had only read about in books, and lacked for little.

I envied them! I longed to become one of them. I began spending as much time as possible with them. I was accepted by their group, and received invitations to holidays and outings with their families. I seldom went home. I rarely talked to my folks. I was on my way to the life I had always felt that I should live.

I excelled in my studies, just as I had while in high school. After graduating summa cum laude, I applied to law school. The next three years became a whirlwind. With my juris doctorate in my hands, I had offers from several prestigious law firms. I chose one that specialized in international law, and moved to New York.

I was very pleased with myself. Though I found the ideal apartment in a sleek, shiny, new high-rise, there was little time to enjoy the amenities. I traveled from one country to another handling the affairs of the firm. Travel was certainly something that I had not experienced much of in my life. I worked hard and put in many hours. There was little time for socializing, but the pay was great! I thought that the pace would slow soon, and I would be able to relax and reap the benefits.

I woke up one day to find that I was approaching forty years old. Basically, my life consisted of sleeping, waking, working, and repeating the cycle. I began to feel lonely. "Family" had become a foreign term. I dutifully called my aging parents once a month, but the ties had loosened over time. They belonged to another life; one that I had left behind me long ago. I found that I didn't scorn this other life as much as I had once.

Time continued to march forward. I received a phone call from my dad. He was distraught. My mother had developed Alzheimer's several years before and he had cared for her until she became bedridden. He had called to say that she had died. He asked that I come home, if only for the funeral services. I told him that I would catch the next flight.

It had been twenty five years since I had been home. I rented a car at the airport and drove the sixty-five miles to my birthplace. Things had changed. The tiny town had grown. The population had more than tripled. A few industries had located there, bringing with them more people and jobs. In response, there were more retail stores and even a few eateries. Somehow, it had maintained the aura of a small town. The tree-lined streets still were filled with homes that were well-cared for. The owners took pride in their properties, and it showed. I felt a pang of "homesickness". It was a feeling that I had never experienced.

Walking into the home of my youth, I saw my father. He had aged, much more than I imagined. His once dark hair was now white. Though the years had been kind to him, he was haggard and gaunt. My mother's illness had taken a toll on both of them.

There were a lot of visitors throughout the next few days. Some of them I recognized and others I met for the first time. I saw former classmates and renewed acquaintances. They all seemed so concerned with my father's welfare. They brought food and sent flowers and cards expressing their condolences. This was not the usual in my "citified" life. Here, it seemed that my father and I mattered. People that I associated with there were too busy and stressed to spend this much time with someone else's life.

After a few days of assisting my dad, I returned to the city. Now, there seemed to be less glitz and glamor. Although nothing had changed, it seemed to lack something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I threw myself into my work.

It was on a business trip to Taiwan that I first felt the twinges in my chest, and I knew that I might have a problem. I saw a doctor upon my return to the city. He confirmed that my cholesterol levels and triglycerides were dangerously high and put me on meds. But it wasn't soon enough. I had a major heart attack the next week. I was rushed into surgery and the doctors had to perform emergency cardiac by-pass surgery. There were eight blockages. I "coded" five times on the OR table. It was touch and go for a while. But, there was no one to care. It seemed I was replaceable. I returned to my apartment a week later to find that the few short visits from co-workers were only perfunctory.

I began to receive cards and calls from an unexpected source. My father had asked that I be placed on the prayer list at his church. Slowly at first, but then with an unexpected flourish, the cards and letters flowed. I got calls from former classmates wishing me well and telling me that they loved me. Imagine that! People I scarcely knew cared for me! I was important to them.

I had plenty of time to think about this. Recovery was slow, and the rehab that followed was even slower. When I did begin to receive phone calls from the people at work, it was either about cases or to discuss when I would be able to return. I began to long for the thing that I had once detested—Home!

You know, it is said that you can't go home again. I found this saying to be wrong. I resigned from the job and the life that I had once cherished. I packed my bags and moved into the house with my father for a little while. I established a small practice in my hometown. I must say, it is doing remarkably well! I even found time to socialize with those "friends" that I had once taken for granted. Tomorrow, I will celebrate my tenth wedding anniversary with my beautiful bride.

I once read a statement by a man named George Moore, that said: "A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it." No truer words have ever been spoken. I have found the very thing that I needed all along. I have found love. It was right in front of me all the time, and I was too blinded by the lights of the big city to see it.


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