in a word – fields of poppies

According to Merriam-Webster: home (noun)

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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Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

Today I am attending the funeral of my childhood friend, Dave. Much like a brother, Dave would taunt me relentlessly. He would laugh with me and joke around. He would often threaten to beat up misbehaving boyfriends or anyone that made me upset. When Dave smiled his whole face smiled and his chuckle infected everyone around him until they, themselves joined in the laughter. Dave was the first boy to ask me to marry him. He would tell me that all he needs is a good woman and he would straighten up and do right. I suspect he slung his arm around many a young lady and professed the same. That was Dave – but it was nice.

I have known loss in my life. Great loss, in fact. My mother, Grandparents, my mother – students and former students, my mother, other relatives and acquaintances – did I mention my mother? But this one begins a new chapter for me – this is my first real friend to go to the grave. It hurts and confuses me greatly in unexpected ways. Of course it hurts. But the unexpected confusion compounds the impact of the loss.

Dave died at 49. 49…my mom died when she was 49. This age – this fact affects me and I do not understand why. Maybe my being here has nothing to do with Dave at all, but with the loss of my mother. I remember him playfully hitting on her, too.

Even though he remained one of my bother’s best friends, I have not seen Dave in over a decade. But his life so touched mine during our youth that it seems as if he just left my house. I regret not visiting Dave in the last days of his life. It seems ridiculous to make the trip for the funeral now, but not for the life last week. Selfish, too, I suppose. I could not bare to see him in any other fashion than what is pictured above. Healthy, smiling, happy. Surprisingly, his death brought me back to my hometown. I moved from this town shortly after my mother’s death in 1993 and have not really been back since then. The rest of my family lives elsewhere so there really has not been a reason to return. Until now. I imagine Dave’s family will be a bit confused to see me and not my brothers. I need them to know what he meant to me. I need them to know it, and I need to say it. I feel the loss.

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