- one’s place of residence
- the social unit formed by a family living together
- a familiar or usual setting : congenial environment; also : the focus of one’s domestic attention
- a place of origin
- an establishment providing residence and care for people with special needs
- the objective in various games
Home 1. Piedmont, South Carolina; Home 2. With my mother, so I may never find it again. With my children – so it comes and goes as they do. With my husband, till death parts us; Home 3. Beavercreek, Ohio – my familiar setting; Home 4. Mishawaka, Indiana – from whence I hail; Home 5. all of the above – we all care for one another and each of us has special needs; Home 6. Home = base; a safe haven and hopefully, you can always go home again. Ghosts in the graveyard, flashlight tag…all memories of home base.
The heartfelt, real meaning of home…sitting by the fire, watching tv with the kids. Cooking dinner in the kitchen with the kids setting the table and telling me about their day. Washing their clothes, watching the onesies turn into ripped jeans and sweatshirts. Tucking them in at night, even as teenagers. Going over the best and the worst of the day at the dinner table. Kissing my husband goodbye every morning and hello every afternoon. Laughing with them all as we recall funny memories. Merely looking at my hands and seeing the hands of my mother and my daughter. Bickering children in the backseat of the car (I used to call my two youngest the Bickersons). Tears as best friends move away. Cuddling, hugs and kisses. Going to bed every night next to the man I love. These are home to me.
Recently I found myself far from my current address while my family remained. I experienced great nostalgia as I returned to the hometown of my childhood and adolescence. Strong memories of my parents and my older brothers flooded my head, exploding into feelings that ran the gamut of emotions. Mostly, the ultimate sense of comfort and knowing – knowing that I was loved, knowing that regardless of our dysfunction – love was in our home. During a moment of sadness, however, I longed for so many things from my youth, mostly my mom. The click-clack sound of my mother’s high heals out on the driveway as she left for work each morning, the warmth and comfort of her embrace, the smell of her Design perfume, the sound of her goofy Woody Woodpecker-like laugh, her sense of humor, and her model of undying loyalty. As my sorrowful memories began to make me feel alone in the world my youngest daughter sent to me the image to the left with the message “I took this for you because I know you like the sunset with the black trees”. HOME.
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