Coming home

I was born in the state of Ohio and spent the first four years of my life there. I was raised in San Diego and consider it my hometown. I would visit Cleveland on rare occasions, but did not spend to much time there growing up. About twelve years ago my mom moved back to Cleveland and has been there ever since. I have probably visited Ohio more times in the last 12 years then I have since moving away at four. I consider home to be wherever my mom is, so when I say that I am going home to visit my mom, I am now talking about Cleveland. I recently flew to Cleveland because my mother was rushed to the hospital. My mother health is declining, so this was not her first visit to the hospital. What really caught my attention was my sister saying that she just signed a do not resuscitate order. I've been here for a week and my mother's health has improved, but she is still in the hospital and will probably remain there even after I leave this Sunday. As I sit in my mothers kitchen, looking out at the grey sky, listening to my father coughing in his bedroom, watching a city that I hardly know cat-nap, I start to think about home. Not the home that is the city where my mother lives, but the home that is the city where my own family lives. Is this what being an adult is all about?