The last few years have been difficult ones for my family, and the one person guiding and getting us through them intact has been my Mom. Today is her birthday, so this little post goes to honor her. Celebrating such love is one of the best things about this blog, and sharing it seems to be largely missing on the rest of the wretched internet. And so we offer gratitude and appreciation on this day for the woman who keeps our family together.
She moved into her new home last year, letting go of the house where so many childhood memories took place, and so many adult memories as well. I thought at first that I would miss the old house – it seemed such an indelible part of all those memories. I was thankful when my brother and his family simply switched homes and moved in, keeping it in the family. When we had Christmas Day dinner in the old house, however, I understood that things had changed, and it wasn’t a bad thing. I thought I might be sad, that pangs of our former lives there would come back up in ways that only served to remind us that such a time was over. I thought our connection to that house would only be painful now that so much had changed. My Mom knew better.
She said many months ago that she didn’t miss the old house. She missed the life she had there, and the memories she made during that time, but she didn’t miss the house. I wasn’t so sure until we returned there for Christmas, and I realized she was right. It wasn’t the house that had made those moments and years matter, it was Mom. And Dad. And my brother. And me. Our family is what made those memories mean so much, and it would have happened wherever we happened to be.
I feel that in Mom’s new home. There is a warmth and comfort and love that comes through, not because she has made it her own with key pieces of furniture and objects from our old house, but because she is there.
Home isn’t a place, it’s the people we love.
Happy birthday, Mom. Thanks for still being our home.
