I saw a writing competition to write a poem about what “home” means to you. While I’m no good at writing poetry, it does have me thinking about what home means to me. My thoughts are below for the moment…
For 29 years of my life, home was a destination. A specific location. The placed I longed for when the seas were rough, and the days were tough. It wasn’t anything special. A log cabin in the middle of nowhere East Tennessee. It was where I grew up. It was where I learned to walk. It was where I learned to run. It was where I learned to read, write, and do arithmetic. It was a U-shaped gravel driveway always calling my name.
It wasn’t special. It was home. It always looked like 3 children were being raised between its 4 walls. The dysfunctional family inside had their share of problems, but we were always there for each other. Home was home. It was my safe place. It was my constant in this ever-changing world.
Walking through the doors there would always be a dog welcoming me home. Another one in the back barking to get closer, and a cat waiting to be feed on the kitchen stool. Mom and Dad would be sitting on the respective spots on the couch every evening watching TV. After Mom had cooked dinner and Dad had done the dishes. It was quiet. It was quaint. It was predictable.
Until the Christmas it wasn’t. Home wasn’t home anymore. I had been warned. I had seen the warning signs for myself from 1,000 miles away. Dad wasn’t sitting on the couch with Mom at night. Dad was physically here and emotionally absent from every hour we spent together in that house over the holiday season. Shortly, they would be telling us they were splitting up.
They split up the family.
Suddenly, home wasn’t home anymore.
Home wasn’t easy.
Home wasn’t safe.
Home wasn’t a predictable escape from the world anymore.
Home was the same as everything in my life, changing, unpredictable, emotionally draining.
I left that home the following spring. I left Mom’s house.
Since then I have been searching.
Searching for a new place to call home.
Searching for my safe place.
Searching for that feeling.
Searching again for the innocence of a child not from a broken home.
Where is home for you? What does it feel like? Who fills those spaces? Is it a place you've always known? Or did you have to redefine it for yourself?
Love to know, love!
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