A return to my youth, is that what I'm searching for?
Maybe I'm just missing everything --too much to put into words.
I counted up the other night how many times I’ve moved in my life so far. I apparently can’t count right because I kept coming up with different numbers. More often than not, I came up with 13 times. We had two main homes growing up, the first home my parents bought, when I was 4 and where we lived until I was 11 and then the house they built and I lived in until I went off to bootcamp.
The house my parents built though, that was home. I came of age in that house. It was a great time in my life. I loved our home. My parents loved it. We had a great big beautiful backyard out in the country, more like in the sticks. I lived in that house for 7 years; the longest I’ve ever lived in one place in my life. Shocking to me, because they loved it so much, they sold the house and moved with my sister when I was away in the service. I never really had any closure with home. I didn't get to pack up and lovingly wrap my things. I never got to look out the back window of the car saying goodbye in my head.
I long to be back there. It’s the only home where I felt home. I haven’t felt home since.
I fear that my kids will never feel that because until the man in blue retires, we are likely not to be in any one home for long.
Sure, some folks will say it’s good for the kids. I always thought it would be. Until recently anyway, when my thoughts changed. Perhaps it’s because we have a big, big, big move on the horizon. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling with this concept.
I know they won’t have a hard time adjusting, or most kids don’t. They will have holes in their memories though. Not big gaping black holes, but sweet little yummy swiss cheese-type holes. They won’t have one home where the bulk of their memories were born. They, in a good and bad way, will have collection of memories for multiple places. Of course, they may not be shaken by this at all.
Again, I’m just having a sappy week, well I was last week anyway. It just took me this long to put fingers to keyboard and get my thoughts out. Last week was a really stressful week, for whatever reason. And, hearing that song was certainly the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. And, the floodgates opened….
Yes, my 2 dogs are buried in the yard.
I just want to go knock on the door.
I just want to feel it.
To find myself.
Ever have that feeling?
Sometimes you just feel like you are someone else. That's me right now.
4 comments:
Oh, friend. I moved a lot as a kid, and my mom has "home," but for me there are so many negative connotations with that house, that I don't have a "home."
My favorite saying for the lifestyle we live is: "No matter what, no matter where, it's always home when love is there."
It's true. <3 I love you.
I wonder about my kids too. We moved when I was 5 and my parents still live in that house. I don't think my kids will get that. But then they will see more and do more than I ever did growing up.
Including this recent PCS, I have moved seventeen times in thirty years. Staggering as it seems, I have one place in this world that I call home: the NC mountains were I attended undergrad. Small town, great fmaily-atmosphere, laden with secret trails and happy memories of coming of age as a young adult. As I sit on a bare floor in the new digs, I long for that feeling, too. BTDT. Hugs to you, J.
I happened on your blog by chance after searching for the phrase "you can't go home again" for an article I'm trying to write. I hadn't heard the lovely song before but it made me cry too because this time last week I too was standing outside the house I used to live in, after being away for 30 years, thinking of all that was lost.
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