Ain't My Home, by Marc Scibilia

It hit me really hard when my grandmother passed away this summer. She was my last grandparent, and the one to whom I had always been closest and bore the greatest resemblance, at least in appearance. She even said so herself on one of my visits when her dementia was worse than usual, and she pointed at a picture of me and claimed it was a photo of herself. ha - I take it as a complement. She was a foxy lady.

It's kind of an honour to think that a little bit of her spirit lives in me - and it would be a privilege to live out a life that equals the one she lived - one of gentleness, hospitality, perseverance and a great depth & strength of character, even when her health was failing and she was in pretty severe pain. Some of her last words were singing along to the hymns we sang together in the hospital.

A few days after she passed away, my family gathered together in northern Ontario, where she had raised my wonderful father and where my parents first met. We were fortunate enough to be staying on the water, and after a long day, I went out to the dock to watch the sunset. The ducks swam by and quacked at me suspiciously, and the sky glowed in a soft yellow hue that reflected off of the waves that softly lapped at the shore. It was a moment of surrender and a gift peace from God.

Eventually, my brother came out with his guitar, and started singing this song. Now when I hear it, I think of my grandmother. I think I will always miss the amazing woman she was in my life and in others', but I will also celebrate the fact that my beautiful grandmother is - in fact - home.

***

Been to Paris, I've been to Rome
Seen a little bit of the world that's known
But it seems no matter where I go
I know this world it ain't my home

I got keys to a house that's on loan
And keys to a car with rust and chrome
I got keys to things I'll never own
Cause I know this world it ain't my home

And you take me, so very close
But I can't cut down this thought that grows
that no matter where I rest or roam
I know this world it ain't my home

And sometimes it seems a far off dream
just in sight but out of reach
And I don't know where to go but I just keep going
cause I know this world it ain't my home

And you take me, so very close
But I can't cut down this thought that grows
that no matter where I rest or roam
I know this world it ain't my home

Maybe I can try to fall in love again
Find a little house with a picket fence
but you know that I'm a traveling man
to that distant country and that far off land

Oh and when my time is used and done
I will see that final setting sun
I'll leave everything I've ever known
and that house above it will be my home.