My mother once asked us to define the distinction between a house and a home. She was worried that though we had a roof over our heads, we didn’t necessarily consider it home, given that her cancer had forced us to look for ways to escape our reality. When my mother passed away almost four years ago, it was only then that I realized that home isn’t a place or a destination. Home is the person you love. Home is wherever that person may be. Though she doesn’t walk among us anymore, my mother left such a grand imprint that this house is our home and she is our protector.