I experienced a “going home” moment today. After over 12 years, I walked back into my childhood home. The house I grew up in. The house my sisters and brother shared with me, Mom and Dad. The place I hadn’t been able to re-enter since leaving the interior of a life without my Mother. She passed away on May 10, 2000. I remember coming there to gather clothing for her burial. My Dad walked in the door as my sisters and I were gathered in the kitchen. It was the oddest feeling seeing him there without my mother to serve as buffer and sanctuary. When I walked out the door that day, the background lights went dark and the door on that part of my life closed. I never wanted to go back inside ever again if she wasn’t there. That house was my home because of her presence. She was our everything.
I was afraid to go back. Afraid that I wouldn’t be able to handle walking in the door and find the shell of a home lost in a state of fragile deterioration. The return actually came easier than expected. He needed help. This was an opportunity to be a blessing. “And now faith, hope and love abide; these three and the greatest of these is love.”
Some super bowl chili, and dog bones for his new best friend, got me in the door with ease. What was I so worried about? Next time, I won’t let 12 years get in the way.