Survivor Guilt?

Is it silly to be achingly homesick for a place you're not from? Because I ache for New Orleans. Sometimes I look around and I'm all, "holy crap, when did I move?" But it's been months, hasn't it?

And I wouldn't want you to think I'm unhappy here. Far from it. I'm tickled to be back among family and friends in my hometown. I love our new house beyond reason. My new job is awesome, and seems to be getting awesomer. Things are very, very good here.

But still. I was so comfortable in New Orleans. We had carved out a pleasant little place for ourselves - nothing flashy, just a modest little life. In a lot of ways, really, we're better off now than we were then.

I think the problem is there wasn't any closure, as overused as the word is. Since I was laid off in May of 2003 - and even more since John was born - Sonya and I have both said, "if a good job came up for one of us in Memphis we would move." It was an eventual goal for a pretty simple reason: we wanted John to grow up around family, just like both of us had.

But when we left town on August 28 we had three changes of clothes each. My biggest worry? Sonya had an appointment to get a haircut from Shawn over Labor Day weekend. I was afraid we'd have to go back to New Orleans in a day or two and then make the drive again the next weekend.

Cleaning out the apartment in October didn't help, either. When I left that afternoon it looked like I was almost done. Just one more trip, probably, and then we'd be ready to move. Of course, I haven't been back since.

I'm still talking to people at my old job. When I'm down for Mardi Gras they told me to come by and get the stuff that was in my cube. Sonya's tight with her old coworkers - some of them were here a couple of weeks ago - and she's still getting money from them.

Sonya and I had talked about it. Before we leave town, we said, we'll do this or that. A few New Orleans things had slipped by; we knew we'd do them before we moved away. And a big party, for sure, with all our friends and acquaintances. Pour out every drop of booze and cook all the food.

I hate to sound like a broken record, people, but it's my party, etc. Before we moved there I would get all yearn-y right before Mardi Gras, and this is like that but worse. It gets me sometimes: should we have gone back? What would that be like? I'd be working like a dog, I'm sure, but I might have gotten a raise. Sonya would be back and forth to Baton Rouge, I suppose - they're not sure when her workplace will be back in town. John's school reopened in November with a handful of children. I like his daycare now, but I don't think they do as much learning as they did at the old place - they just hang out and play all day. That's fine, but he could handle a lot more than that. Our lease would have been up at the end of the month; what astronomical price would the new rent be? We all play what-if, I know. I've played it every day for most of the last six months.

I'm not trying to justify my decisions...or maybe I am. To myself, at least. Out of the people Sonya and I knew there, everyone was displaced for a while. Some of them still are. But everyone's going back, or they've already gone back. Things just fell into place for us here. It took a while to get jobs and house worked out, sure, but I think it would have taken at least that long - or possibly a good bit longer - to get things back to normal in New Orleans. If they could ever get back to normal, whatever that is.

Last night I was walking around the house, turning off lights, locking doors, and I looked out the front door. It was a clear night, and the moon was full or close to it, and the silvery light was bright and cold over the former bean fields that stretch off towards the interstate. It was a good moment, enchanted in a small way, and I said to myself, "this is where I belong." I believe that, too, but I suppose when you lose a way of life - even when it eventually (and happily) gets replaced - it takes a good long time to let it go.