How strange it is, to touch the edges of death. To smell its musty breath all over my 35 year old life. To have it rattling beside me as I somehow look to the future, as the flesh of my past peels away…

Some of us arrive in this life with a deep knowing of home—rooted, steady, surrounded by familiar walls and familiar faces. Others are born into a path where home is something to be searched for, something to be built piece by piece, something that sometimes slips through our fingers just as we think we’ve found it…