I sit up, collecting myself, sleep still clinging to me like the warmth from my blanket. I can hear the radio playing the oldies. Sliding to the edge of the giant cloud we call our bed, my feet hit the ground as I clutch the bedsheets to prevent my demise. My vision is bleary, as if I’m looking through fog. I make my way out of our room with only my memory of the map that is our home. Wiping the blur from my eyes, I walk into the kitchen smelling of our breakfast. It’s fried eggs, bacon and potatoes. As my hands fall from my eyes, the warm light comes through clearly. My grandmother is stationed in front of the stove, tending to the food as she dances to the music playing. Whistling along to the tune as she sways, she is in her own world. As she twirls in her dance, she catches sight of me. A bright smile blossoms onto her content face. “Good morning my Tweety! Time to put your horns away.” I smile bashfully as I walk to my seat at the table. After using my full effort to climb up the chair to sit I flatten the curls of my hair that was lovingly referred to as my devil horns. “Good morning, Koko.” I say as my grandmother set a plate in front of me. In this one moment in time and space, I know without a doubt I am loved and protected. I am Home. 

    Home can be different things for different people. It’s a childhood home full of memories. It’s being with the people who raised you. It’s being surrounded by your family. It’s attending a ceremony in the religion in which you were raised. It’s being in the arena at a powwow during intertribal, surrounded by your people.  

    Home begins to become a feeling not just a place. It no longer is attached to one place, nor can be found with a ten-minute drive on my homelands. It is a fleeting moment in which everything in the world pauses, for one second everything is peaceful. All the worries and responsibilities on my shoulders are removed, as if taking off a fifty-pound weighted vest. Home is taught. It is learned from family, from your tribe, but often it is learned from life. 

Being raised by my grandparents gave me the advantage of learning about life from people who have seen and experienced everything the world could give them. Every lesson was taught, both unintentional and with intention, to prepare me for a world without them. That I can carry their teachings to our next generation. They taught me to be the eldest of my family, and the leadership that comes with that. But they had forgotten to teach me one other vital lesson. Where was my home to be when they were gone? 

    Life turned out to be the greatest teacher in showing me what home is. At the age of 22 I lost my grandparents within four months of each other. After spending four years as their caregiver, it was a great blow to my heart. During the last year with my grandparents, as their health declined, we had many discussions about what will happen after. The hardest lesson was to keep going, after they were gone, we keep going and doing good things.  

During the years after the passing of my grandparents, it was as if I was a baby again. I forgot how to do many things, and lost confidence in my abilities and knowledge. It was hard to figure out where to start once everything was over, once everyone else went to their home and began to live their everyday lives.  

    The four months following their passing I slept, as if to make up for all the sleepless nights and energy I used to care for my grandparents. One day it was as if I woke up. I was ready to keep going. I didn’t know where my path in life was. It was as if the road that is my life; that which was once brightened with the sun during the day, and my family’s home fire at night, was blanketed with a dark fog. Which only allowed me to see three feet in front of me. I would remember the promise I made to my grandfather, that even after he was gone, I would be ok and will keep going. I filled my days watching the three feet in front of me, as I worked on finding my path again.  

    Having my job helped to reconnect me to my people. Having my faith in our ceremonies helped me to reconnect to my family and the relations that were created by my grandparents so long ago. Like fireflies on a cool summer evening, they were small lights flashing in the darkness that was my life. Each light a small warmth, reminding me of everything my grandparents wanted for me. Reminding me that home, and my grandparents, can be found all around me. As I walk forward, more and more fireflies appear. In rare moments, all their bursts of light magically sync. My world lights up, as though the sun rose in the blink of an eye. In those fleeting moments I can see my whole world and all its colors,     I feel I am home. Though that light fades, and it is dark again. Hope grows in my heart, hope that the light will be constant again. I keep moving forward, I can see farther and farther. As I look in the distance, the sky begins to lighten.     It looks like the sun is finally beginning to rise. 

   Home is different for everyone. You may lose sight of what makes the idea and feel of home. If you keep going, life will show you and remind you what home is. As my grandfather said to me, “It’ll only hurt for a little while, but things will be ok. You keep going.” Slowly I am finding home again.