My mom's welcome-home chatter slowly fades into the background as the car's tires slide over the paved road. My mom hangs a left - that corner was always sharp, and my eyes feast on the brightly painted "Bridgewater - For Sale" sign; the sign, which I once considered an eyesore, evokes a sense of calmness about me, while also igniting the butterflies in my stomach that are anxious to be home. Another left, and the gray shingles slanting of the roofs come into view. The maroon shutters, the white plastic picket fence, and the off-white garage doors fill my vision. These things, which once seemed monotonous, now serve as a satisfying reliability in my world of change. The car glides into the blacktop driveway, and the musical screeching of the garage door is the best "Welcome Home" mat there ever will be.