For anyone who read what my special guest columnist wrote, you have a little more understanding of the headline than those who missed the last edition of the Business Times.

For those who missed it, my 21-year-old daughter, Evin, decided she’d write a column for me because I had a darned good reason for missing one for the first time in decades of putting 900 or so words into this nifty little space. I was recovering from open heart surgery. I still am. It’s a process, or so they tell me.

I know a lot of folks read the last column -— which might or might not mean a lot of folks read my column — because I received notes, cards, texts, calls and even get-well notes on invoice payments over the weeks following the big event. Many of them were complimentary of my daughter, who apparently inherited enough writing genes she was better at her first attempt in doing what I’ve been doing for 23 years.

So naturally, in my little universe, there’s no way I’d let her write the next column. I’d do it with one finger on the keyboard laying in bed before that happened. Just kidding, she can write whenever she’d like. But given her inside knowledge of the man who usually fills this space, a strict editing process would be required.

But back to the topic at hand: home and heart. If there’s one thing my daughters demonstrated throughout this latest ordeal in my life, it was all about their heart for their daddy. I’m truly blessed. Evin came home from Denver not once, but twice, to help me. She wrote in her column about her first trip and becoming the adult in charge of adult decisions related to any possibility that could occur because of my surgery and recovery. She didn’t want the role, but she accepted it. Evin’s second trip was all about getting me home and setting up my life for recovery. She started a meal train, organized my schedule, helped with the production and delivery of the Business Times and so much more.

My youngest, Maya, hasn’t left my side for even one night since I came home. Outside of dance camp, that is. All daddy and no play makes Maya bored to tears. Maya has taken vitals daily, set my phone alarms for medications, keeps a watchful eye on what I eat, goes on my daily walks with me and is never far away to do the things I’m ordered NOT to do. All with a smile on her face. She even brings a cheery, loving disposition to doing the chores she abhorred until my latest trial in life spurred her into action.

The fact is, home is where this Grinch’s heart has grown five times — and not just from the new parts inserted at Seventh and Patterson —  in pride and love for my babies. I must be doing something right.

But my successful surgery and recovery are about so much more than my daughters, even as crucial and important as their roles have been.

A while back, some socialist, busybody, bully had someone write a book in her name called something like “It Takes a Village.” While surgery might have saved my life, it didn’t change everything in my heart. In case anyone was wondering. Our little village of River City has played a prominent role in my ordeal over the past month. But it’s not about the village. It’s about personal relationships with the people in the village. And what I’ve discovered is simple: Grand Junction is home. And it’s time I planted my heart firmly in it.

Many of you might be surprised to learn I’ve always had a hard time accepting Grand Junction as home. I attribute it to the circumstances of moving here, the successes and failures that followed and my emotional indifference to many aspects of life due to behaviors and traumas — some self-inflicted, some not. It’s always made settling in a difficult proposition no matter the village. Well, that’s been put to rest. I’m sad it took a heart attack instead of 23 years of ignorance while covering great examples of home to instill something new.

The villagers did just that. From my personal doctor ordering the blood test to everyone at St. Mary’s cardiac care team to the retired pastor who rebuilt my gates at my house sitting with my Tuesday night AA buddy in the emergency room to my eldest daughter’s best friend dropping everything to be by her and my side to my favorite nurse Maya at my house to friends jumping on the meal train and donating gift cards and dollars so food is in over-abundance to Phil holding down the fort to countless messages to me personally and via communication central being run by Evin, to well-wishers and get well soon messages galore that continue to this day. All from the goodness of everyone’s hearts.

I’m just so joyful to be finally home.

Craig Hall is owner and publisher of the Business Times. Reach him at 424-5133 or publisher@thebusinesstimes.com