No substitute for a visit home

It doesn't take much to reconnect with family, no matter the time or distance between the ones you love. You can be away for years, in fact, and require only a few hours to bridge not only a geographic but emotional gap that, when you’re somewhere else, seems rather large.

It’s not really as substantial as all that since the various media available to us now enables up close and personal contact in so many ways. I’m not terribly tech-savvy, so e-mail and a landline pretty much do it for me, but there's no doubt we can reach friends and family much more immediately than ever before and that’s a good thing, right?

Most of the time, anyway. There are some who would argue that even a little can be too much, but I’m not in that group. I miss the people who live away and can’t help but wonder if everyone’s all right: if they’re stressed; enjoying success; wondering about me as much as I ponder them.

You see, there’s really no substitute for face-to-face contact despite the technological miracles that abound and apparently simplify our existence.

You can yak all you like on the phone and text ‘til your fingers go numb, but there's nothing like sitting on the porch with a glass of wine hearing your mom, brother or sister tell you what’s happening.

I did that last week, and recommend it highly. E-mail or text message can't communicate inflection, facial expression or emotion. They’re a poor substitute for a hug or a walk around the block as your mom, for example, elaborates on the state of the world as she knows it. Fact is, she knows plenty, having been on the planet for nearly 80 years, and it’s worth it sometimes to reconnect with such wisdom.

It’s not as easy as it was once since travel costs are prohibitive and it’s not just me anymore. When we travel, our family moves as a posse and there’s the requisite car seats, extra clothes, hands to hold, noses to wipe. If you

have young kids, you know the drill.

But it’s worth it to take the time. I’ve found there are too many regrets and people never consider the important stuff until it’s way too late.

I’m alone in the old house right now, in the place where I grew up and discovered eventually that it was time to move away. It’s quiet, but I can hear the whispers of my youth and the recounting of the many memories ingrained in this home. I had forgotten their importance; so easy, really,

when it’s hectic and one day is crushed into the next like a rollercoaster that has run its rails.

But I’m happy to return, if only for a while. You need to hear those tiny voices every now and then and find sense in the simple accounting of your past. It redefines the future somehow and I’m satisfied.

It’s the value of going home, even if your life and all it’ll ever be is somewhere else.