I was watching Ingrid Bergman in Her Own Words a few days ago. It consists of the home movies Ingrid made and her diaries, as well as interviews with her children and friends. At one point, her son, Roberto Rossellini, talks about how, when Ingrid and his father divorced, he had to move from Italy to an island in Sweden and he talked about how important a home is. He said so many things are always changing in life, but it's profoundly important to have a place that is stable and that doesn't change, a place that's rooted and he said that's what the island was to him.

I thought about how I once had a house of my own, a steady place where I could collect my books and keep my journals and live my life. I was embedded. I was connected. Now, I've lost that. It was unthinkable to lose my home. But it was unthinkable to lose my father too and that happened. I don't know how to cope with all of this. My home was very important to me. It was the place where I grew up, where I lived with my father, where I spent 26 years. It was the one constant through all the years of tragedy and suffering. At least I had that, even though I had no father and no family and no friends. It was there. What do I have now?