Well put.
As TS Eliot wrote,
"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
Now, I am away for months, - and sometimes - years at a time.
Now - as happened this morning, when I saw my doctor, my pharmacist, my tailor, and the lovely little antiques store where I buy solid antique crystal wine glasses (Waterford, Lismore pattern) - some of these people have begun to mix up the places I have been to in recent years: "Oh, we haven't seen you in ages. Have you been away/Are you just back from Russia/Afghanistan/Australia/Africa"?
In fairness, the doctor and pharmacist - as they supply relevant and geographical specific medication - know exactly where I have been; the others just know that I "have been away" (and for months, if not years).
But, things change; college classmates develop cancer, or get divorced, or their businesses go terminally pear-shaped, whereas once they just worried about getting girls pregnant, or being caught smoking pot (or something stronger), or caught speeding in daddy's powerful two-litre car, or failing their exams.
Parents die - and commodious and pleasant family homes that were in the possession of a family for half a century or more have to be sold - "bricks and mortar, it's only bricks and mortar" shrugged one classmate when I commiserated. And sometimes, children do, too.
Their lives move on, and so do yours.