WHEN I WAS THIRTEEN, I left home to attend a Catholic seminary. I’ll never forget the leave-taking at the station that early September morning. I was off on an adventure, and I did not know how difficult it would be. I wasn’t at school long before I began to feel that strange malady we call homesickness, when you can’t tell if you’re suffering physically or emotionally, or both. It felt like an open wound in my throat and around my heart. Eventually the pain eased, but it never fully went away.
Home-sickness is not the same as house-sickness, because a home is not the same as a house. Home is ...
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