home again
Home is elusive.
It is the back door in my mind.
The one that swings open
and smacks closed.
The hinges squeaking you in.
The airy rise and slow return.
The welcome slap of the wood on its frame.
I’m home, it announces.
I can see the entire back hill from the picture window of One Quaker Lane. This is where we hoisted the wooden tree swing. From our handyman Henry to Emma on Valentine’s Day. The giant flag that would hang on the porch post 9-11. Where the swing set lived. “The park” as Emma called it. And the LL Bean hammock. Where I itched myself to bits, having doused my city self with poison ivy, trying to plant a garden.
Where the front door was shiny red. Our home the corner bus stop. We all gathered to wave you off to school. Exchange the cliff notes of a neighborly life. Admiring her new it bag. Talking about the growing pains of a new start. The chrysanthemum in bloom.
This is house number two in town. Where I settled in to city commutes. To enjoying having my Dad around the corner. Soccer fields. Mom friends. True motherhood.
Each of the rooms held a warmth and a carefully selected paint color to make it feel just right. A dining room the color of comfy chinos and corner cupboard glazed in green apple. The office sleek white painted wood floors and bubble gum walls. The perfect place to write. Flea market finds, find their place of pride.
A baby shower for Liz. Mini red champagne bottles served with a straw. A tie-dye party featured in Parent’s Magazine. The pre-trick-or-treat Halloween pizza party. That one Thanksgiving, when both Great Aunts were still alive. Where I came home from the third miscarriage. Where I learned I was pregnant with Quinn. Where I waited for Dad and Eddie to return that fateful Tuesday in September
It is not where I thought I called home in my heart’s memory, but where it brought me when I closed my eyes today.
The back door.
Where we greeted neighbors
and so many new days.
Home can be so elusive when you lose a parent and no longer have a family place to return to. Where do you call home? Use this as a writing prompt of your own. Love for you to share your reflections. Feel free to email me hello@thememorycircle.com x, Barri