Friday, February 15, 2013

You Can't Go Home Again

This is my house. The house I grew up in. The house that the bank will soon take back. This is a house, but it is more. This was my home. We moved to this house the summer before I started 2nd grade. I look at this picture and I smile. I look at this house and I see my father.
My mother tried to stay here. But after 5 years the insurance money was gone. The economy has not been kind. You could not sell this house for what was owed on it. The amount is not high, not high at all. But like I said, the economy has not been kind.

My mother moved in with my son and I two months ago. She still calls the house down the street, this house, home. I wonder if she will ever call my house home? For months I spent weekends packing and moving and selling things. Watching my past walk out the door. Seeing my childhood memories through tears. I have the best friends in the world. People who had no reason to be there all the time other than their compassion and love. How can I be this lucky? I don't know, but I am grateful.

The house is empty now, just waiting for the bank to take it. This is not how this should have ended. This house did not deserve an ending like this. But maybe my father was the heart of this house? Maybe without him there it stopped being home. Looking at this picture I still see him. Cutting the grass and working in the yard. This house was a very, very, very fine house.


Walker said...

I am sorry to hear about the house.
I like to think as the house not being the home but just a domicile, the cave that kept your warm and dry from the elements.
A home is where the heart is and t hats anywhere where family is.
The love can never be repossessed.
The memories can never be stolen.

Smokey's Daughter said...

As always Walker, your words mean so much. You are a wise one you are.