3 Facts for the Day

10 05 2013

1. When I was in the Navy, I would count down the days to be able to fly back home. My parent’s house was like a safe haven. It was like a child’s security blanket. When I came down the drive-way and saw the porch light on like a beacon, calling me inside to its warm confines, a peace and happiness would wash over me. I was always welcome there. Even in my thirties when I moved back to Mississippi, my folks welcomed me with open arms and fixed me up a room to stay until I got back on my feet. After my Mom’s death, we tried to keep the warmness of the home alive. There was still love and memories there. When my Dad remarried, he moved to his wife’s house and closed up our family home.
2. I went to my family’s land today. My Aunt still lives on the property, and I was checking on her cats while she’s out of town. I decided to go look at my childhood home. I have keys, but I never go there. When he first closed it up, I went and retrieved special keepsakes and trinkets and such that I wanted in my own home. That was a hard thing to do, because I wanted to take everything. When you miss someone so much, even a simple hot pink, ballet flat can have all these memories attached. I don’t go there anymore because it makes me sad. An empty house is a depressing one.
3. Today as I walked onto the porch, a breeze was blowing and it made Mom’s wind chimes tinkle away. She loved her chimes, and I smile when I think of how many she acquired, and how all the noise irritated my Dad. I didn’t stay long. The girls were asleep in the car. I made a quick sweep of the inside. The house had the scent of being forgotten, and it hurt my heart. My Mom’s favorite chair sat empty. An mural she was making of a beach scene hung unfinished on the wall. We all helped make a part of it, and the boat I made sits motionless on an ocean that never gets viewed. We cleaned out her closet, but today I noticed a chest of drawers that still held some of her clothing. I could swear I smelled her on them. I saw on a shelf a wooden sign I had made her for her birthday, and I almost took it with me, but it just seemed better that it should stay. I wanted to take some things with me that I saw, but in the end, I only grabbed some children’s books for Chloe. It’s hard to go home sometimes, they say, especially when only memories remain. Well, that, and over twenty years of stuff. I know in my heart that my Mom isn’t mourning over the loss of her house or her wind chimes, or even her figurines from Germany. No, she has more important things to do now. I’m human though, and still conflicted by thoughts of loss. So, I think it’s ok to be a little sad that my childhood home is no more. I left most of the sadness there as I locked the door back, and the rest of it faded as I saw the smile on Chloe’s face when she woke and treasured her new books I rescued.
That is all πŸ™‚

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2 responses

10 05 2013
Mama jeri

I love that mural. I remember Maddie telling me that Marty said the little boy was Cole πŸ™‚
I have this same experience in my grandparents house in Glen. She has not lived in the house in many years because her blindness and Alzheimer’s got too bad. Walking in there is so sad, because it used to be incredibly crowded with love and life. I know how you felt. Very sad. It almost takes your breath away. You realize that it may hav been the oldest or even the sickest person in your family who was really the rock holding it all together.

10 05 2013
Brie

Thanks Jeri. I think it’s ok to grieve but I can’t go there often. It’s just too much.

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