This weekend I went "home" for my mom's birthday. I stopped calling it home after I got married, usually calling it "Mom's house" or just "Delaware". But this trip was different. For the first time in a long time, I thought of it as home. And I was miserable leaving it.
I went with Bebe, and we had such a good time. There were two big meals in my sister's garage with the radio blaring and the tables covered in newspapers: blue crabs, steamed shrimp, hamburgers, hot dogs, grilled veggies and local sweet corn. Even though I didn't get to eat much (too close to Bebe's bedtime), it was fun. On Sunday afternoon we all jumped in the pool, Bebe's first swim. She had a blast. There really wasn't much to our visit, just time with my family. But I didn't miss home. Not even a little bit. In fact, I cried when it was time to come back. I really didn't want to.
Why is home so hard?
Walking around in my old back yard, I wandered over to the huge apple tree that was a victim of violent storms a few weeks ago. It had been ripped right out of the ground, most of its roots exposed. I feel a little bit like that, my roots unable to keep me grounded, so close to what I once knew, but unable to return.
Our neighbor, my 6th grade teacher, died several years ago. His name is still on the mailbox, but no one lives there anymore. His wife remarried and moved away. The bushes in his back yard that used to be waist-high are now well over 6 feet. The trees are overgrown, the grass dying underneath, choked by the perpetual shade.
I know we all have to move on, to grow and adapt; otherwise we'll end up choked by the world as it grows around us, over us. But I think we turn to home, or the idea of it, in times of stress and loneliness, in moments of uncertainty. I realize that I don't miss home. Rather, I miss what home used to be; or the ideal I choose to remember. I want that tree to be a sapling again, and those bushes to be low enough to hurdle. But I think more than anything, I want my roots to find solid ground. I want to see the sun. And I want The Ghost to turn back into The Saint.
I've never really felt attached to the place I grew up.... I guess I moved around too much when I was very young to ever actually think of one place as home. Instead, I've lived my life with the attitude of "home is where you keep your cats". Not quite accurate, but it sounds better than just living in a house or an apartment...
ReplyDeleteGlad you had a good time on your trip. Sorry it tugged so hard on your heartstrings.
Ah sweet child of mine, being the redneck that I am please refer to Trace (the picture of us hanging next to my screen so I can see his yummy self) Adkins "You're Gonna Miss This". At 54 I know that there are still things I am gonna miss, like this weekend with Princess Lucy eating rocks in the driveway while we ate crabs in the garage and drank beer (no I don't want a glass, it's already in glass)and laughed and talked and watched KJ with his tac-tor....because with all the bullshit and heartache - life is sweet and in the end, all you really have are your memories....
ReplyDeleteI feel like where we grew up is so dramatically different that its really hard to miss these days. Growing up I had no desire to move away, but now I have no desire to ever live there again. It feels so different now.
ReplyDeleteWant to run through Mr. B's backyard and swim in my pool? Those were fun summer days too. Think i might huddle in fetal pos. and weep some . . . I met Mr. B.'s son recently at a family party. Talked his ear off about his dad. Miss you and childhood. Love my life now, though too.
ReplyDelete