When I (Rebecca) was 10 years old, my grandparents visited me at sleepaway camp. They brought a picnic lunch, and as we sat on the grass enjoying the carefully curated selection of my favorite foods, I made a confession. “I just can’t stop feeling homesick,” I admitted, my eyes welling with tears.
My grandfather put his hand over mine. “Homesickness is a hard feeling,” he said thoughtfully. “But it’s also a good one. It means you have a home that’s really worth missing.”