There And Back And Thoughts On Home....
25 hour bus ride, back to Texas, back to my home town. The old house I grew up in still stands and hasn't changed all that much. The marks on the door fr
My father and mother, grown old. The trees in the yard, grow large.
40 degrees outside but my mothers garden still looks like spring.
For 5 days I sit in wait and try to make myself "at home". But my father and mother still to yell. My baby pictures line walls. Mementos tucked away in a ceder chest...little dress, brush and comb, blanket.
The floors are still the same, the walls haven't changed. My father still sits in his lazy boy and watches the weather channel to loud and my mother still cooks way to much. Everything smells the same, tastes the same, *is* the same but I wasn't home.
Tuesday afternoon comes. I choose to lay down and take a nap instead of pacing back and forth. I wake just as the door slams and little foot steps trod through the house. Jullian comes running down the hall way as I set up in bed and he sees me. He stops dead in his tracks. He looks...tilts his head and looks again. Inches closer to the door and tilts his head the other way. I say "hi baby" and he runs and jumps into my arms. "Mommy, mommy, mommy!!!" The first question asks? "Mommy, can I come home with you now?"
Gideon (much larger than his brother) comes down the hall way next and is crying before he even reaches the bed. My son, the size of a 10 year old, crawls into my lap, curls into a ball and just cries.
I feel so many things I can not even begin to try to explain them here. But my babies, both curled up in my lap feels like home.
There are many questions, many explanations and assurances. Many worries and fears, but in that moment, I had found home for a little while in a place that was no longer *my* home.
We leave at 5 am the next morning. I leave a letter in the mailbox for the post man to pick up and deliver to their father. He should be getting it today and my heart breaks for him. I am afraid of what will happen next.
We all (my mother, father, oldest son Gabe, Gideon and Jullian) arrive at my house in Georgia on Thanksgiving day.
Danny has made a large pot of chili and everyone enjoys that. I am THANKFUL.
My whole family, piled into my tiny house is chaos for the rest of that day. I do not feel like I'm "home". This makes me very, very uncomfortable. I am, after all, home.
The next day is warm and sunny. My father is outside playing ball with our dogs, Danny in his garage, blissfully assembling his new, shinny red tool box my father has bought him. The boys are running around in the woods next to out house being boys.
Me and my mother are potting plants in the sun on my front porch. Spades and shovels, potting soil and earth, dirty hands and tiny little plants. Standing next to my mother, planting and talking in the sun I feel that home feeling again. It is fleeting but yes, there it is again.
That night the boys are bathed and tucked in bed, all the lights are out. I am curled in my comfortable bed with way to many pillows next to a man who adores me, half asleep and half awake and realize what home really is...
When I first joined EP I wrote confession and got a huge amount of comments...everyone seemed to identify. It was simply "I want to go home, but I have no idea where that is."
I know where that is now....it is not a place. "Home" is a moment...long or short. It is a space in time that can last a life time or just a few minutes but home in most certainly NOT four walls, a ceiling and a floor.
My babies are back with me, they are safe and healthy and happy and just seeing them smile warms my heart.
Right now, in this moment, with my children and my man who adores me, I am HOME.