Carson Samson

My grandfather, on my mom’s side, was a man of remarkable resilience. Despite being clinically blind, he could still perceive shapes, especially in high contrast. 

My dad was a good son-in-law. His own parents had separated, and their relationship was also affected by severe health conditions and other strains. Perhaps he looked at my mom’s family and saw a stability he hadn’t fully experienced; who knows?

One time when my grandparents came to visit us, my dad took my grandfather for a walk around the block. They walked slowly so that Pop could get a feel for the neighbourhood. When they got back to our house, Dad placed a plastic white lawn chair at the end of the drive. “Now, Skipper, this should help you find your stop,” Dad said.

The next day, Pop went on his walk by himself. Some time after he left, a well-meaning neighbour, thinking the wind had blown our lawn chair away, brought it back to the porch. As a result, Pop was set adrift. After some time, my parents worried and went to collect him. All was fine.

Seeing the flaw in his design, Dad went to work building and painting a marker that wrapped around the tree in our front yard. It was visible (even for the poor-sighted); it was built for a purpose, even if that purpose wasn’t apparent to all. It was stable: no one could uproot or move it. Pop never got lost again.

I often reflect on this idea in ways that extend beyond mere thoughts, as it touches on my own life: my heart is always searching for something. It yearns for a sense of home. It’s not the house on Adell Drive or the life I lived there. My heart longs for many things, and those desires differ for each of us. We might yearn for acceptance or for a love returned without question. We could be seeking to mend a fractured relationship or find peace amid a chaotic mind. When my heart feels restless, I search for my beacon—my lighthouse—to guide me home.

What does home look like to your heart? Have you ever felt lost, like Pop, and what was your ‘lighthouse’ that guided you back?