Coming home vs. being home

Yesterday, I returned home. I arrived last night after a long and frustrating journey courtesy of the US Military and the lowest contract bidder. But I am home. I arrived during the evening of the fourth of July. There is a real symbolism to that of course, Independence Day and all. The fact wasn't lost on me.

While I was unloading the car my neighbor was out celebrating the day with his daughter. He was setting off some firecrackers. They went off about 40 feet from me. Without hesitation I was on the ground.

I do not suggest my time is comparable to the tour of a young Army trooper or Marine who has slogged through the streets of Mosul or Fallujah. But it has changed me to some measure.

I am home.

But I realize that coming home is not simply unloading the baggage from the back of the car.