Going Home

I'm sitting here in what used to be my bedroom for the last 5 or 6 years I lived at home. The walls are now a brown, instead of the sunny yellow, that I chose, the carpet has been replaced, and there is a California King bed, instead of the small twin with my white eyelet bed spread.

The memory of my room, reminded me of the sounds I used to hear in my home. My brother playing his KC and the Sunshine Band and Wild Cherry albums on the turn table in his room, my mom's Doris Day albums playing on the stereo, my Sister Marie practicing the piano, or her clarinet and my sister Ruth talking me into another one of her schemes. The phone ringing a lot and everyone advising someone else to get it; Our family chatting during dinner, laughing around the dining room table as we played games together,the words offered during one of our family prayers. Doors opening and closing as our family and friends came and went.

The busy home I knew in my youth now has very different sounds, musical clocks that are set about 2 minutes apart so they don't all play at the same time, favorite TV game shows, perhaps a phone call or two, my dad in the kitchen by himself doing the dishes, insisting it's his job and that he doesn't need help, the shuffle of my father's feet as he pushes his walker to make it from one room to the next, and a lot of quiet, if loneliness was a sound that's what it would be.

It's so strange to think that for so many years this home was full of so much family and hustle and bustle and now but for a few TV shows and occasional conversation, it's mostly quiet and though my parents are here, it feels empty. Home is truly where your heart and memories are. I'm so grateful for the happy memories I've had here, and for the experiences that are a part of who I am today.