I started thinking about this on Christmas Eve. Ever since I moved out of my parents house I always go back to sleep there on Christmas Eve. My mom wants me to wake up with her there on Christmas morning. Part of me loves that - just like it always was when I was a kid. The other part of me thinks its silly. Because as soon as we wake up, we leave the house anyway. Last year for the first time I didn't go there - and I broke my mom's heart. So this year, I went back again.
I lived in the house my parents live in now for 14 years. I remember going to the lot when it was being built and watching it develop from a hole in the ground to the home I knew and loved. I remember my dad taking my sister and I to the flooring store and letting us pick any flooring in the store we wanted for our bedrooms. Looking back now, I would never let a kid do that. If they picked out something hideous (which I DID) I would steer them into a better choice. I realize now how cool it was for my dad to do that. Anyway, my room has been renovated since that day in the 80's, a few times actually. And again after I moved out, the renovations on my room began.
So, as I lie there on Christmas Eve in "my" bed, which isn't my bed anymore; In "my" room, which looks nothing like my room anymore - I was saddened to realize it no longer felt like home. It saddens me to even write this now. I guess you like to think that home will always be home. But it's not. And someday when my parents sell that house - I won't even have that. Even now when I am visiting my mom she treats me like a guest sometimes. Asking if she can get me something to drink - just being polite like that. That kills me inside. I want to yell at her and tell her I can get my own drink. But I don't - I know she's just trying to be nice. But it still hurts.
I guess on the flip side - I can appreciate that I have created my own home for myself. At one point where I live now was just my house but in time it turned into my home. I am not aware of when that transition took place. The notion that where I considered my home to be shifted from one address to another.
Being home this Christmas, I want to believe my parents house will always be what I consider home...even if its just never quite the same. As I lie here on my warm comfortable bed that I love so much I'm learning that home is more of a feeling than an address. Perhaps its the feeling of warmth, comfort and love. And you can't mail a letter to that.
2 comments:
Wow. Very impressive that they let you pick your own flooring.
At least you have one place that feels like home right now.
I completely hear what you are saying. We lived in my grandparent's house while they were in Georgia. That is where I did most of my growing up. When they came back my parents bought a house of their own. When my parents got divorced my mom and I moved into this little two bedroom apartment and it really took awhile for it to become my home. I still feel very comfortable and happy when I visit my grandparents. That house really brings me peace.
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