Home
Home holds a multitude of meanings. A physical place, a mental space. That place that brings warmth and comfort, security. Fills the heart. Home.
I've been back home for a month and will stay another month for work. When I visit Mom, she and her friends (other residents) talk about going home. I used to think home meant a building -- the kitchen that always smells of fabulous food, the bathroom with the soft berry scent, pictures of family everywhere, memories holed up in every room.
It's been strange being back. I'm staying with friends and we just finished with the sale of our family home. And that house is no longer home, Dad's been 9 years gone and Mom doesn't live there anymore. The first week or so being back I felt a little homeless and lost. And then I settled in my yoga studio. Saw Mom. Talked with her caregivers - remember their names. Spent time with my friends. Drove down familiar streets. Settled into a routine with work. And this is home.
Over the years I've come to realize my family and friends are home. The eyes that sparkle every time we see each other, a smile, a wink, a poke, experiencing food and drink together. Feeling
Every time I go see Mom, we hold hands while we walk. She tells me often how proud she is of me. She says she cannot believe how much I have grown. Her gait is quite slow and she is no longer very steady. Too much stimulus is a little overwhelming for her, so when we go out, we go to Hallmark and then drive around to look at the fall colors. When she says she wants to go home, she may say she means a place, but she wants that warm feeling we get when we smell coffee, cinnamon, fresh homemade cookies. She is without a doubt my mom and I am home.
I've been back home for a month and will stay another month for work. When I visit Mom, she and her friends (other residents) talk about going home. I used to think home meant a building -- the kitchen that always smells of fabulous food, the bathroom with the soft berry scent, pictures of family everywhere, memories holed up in every room.
It's been strange being back. I'm staying with friends and we just finished with the sale of our family home. And that house is no longer home, Dad's been 9 years gone and Mom doesn't live there anymore. The first week or so being back I felt a little homeless and lost. And then I settled in my yoga studio. Saw Mom. Talked with her caregivers - remember their names. Spent time with my friends. Drove down familiar streets. Settled into a routine with work. And this is home.
Over the years I've come to realize my family and friends are home. The eyes that sparkle every time we see each other, a smile, a wink, a poke, experiencing food and drink together. Feeling
Every time I go see Mom, we hold hands while we walk. She tells me often how proud she is of me. She says she cannot believe how much I have grown. Her gait is quite slow and she is no longer very steady. Too much stimulus is a little overwhelming for her, so when we go out, we go to Hallmark and then drive around to look at the fall colors. When she says she wants to go home, she may say she means a place, but she wants that warm feeling we get when we smell coffee, cinnamon, fresh homemade cookies. She is without a doubt my mom and I am home.