The glow of the morning evoked the nostalgia of Christmas. I opened my shades to find the deadened October grasses crusted with snow. Northern Michigan at its finest. I forgot how quickly the cold consumes you here. But the deep chill returned to me that morning just as the scent of orange soap flips me several chapters back to my grandmother’s bathroom, looking in the mirror on my tiptoes, my wild childhood face reflecting back at me. I shivered and looked at the clock on my phone for orientation; how easily our mind can transport us into memory. I saw myself there, laying in bed as if I were in…

By the summer of our daughter’s third birthday, our family had begun to rearrange itself. With a new home in a new city, we slowly started digging a new routine in the darkness. Moving back to my hometown brought an unexpected peace to my life, although, for years I desperately fought the idea of returning here. I was the only sibling of five to leave our city by the water and not return. And it was this disappearance that had come to write so much of my self-definition. Over the years, when Sean would suggest we return here, I would judgementally scoff, “never.” Moving back here had never felt like…