Going Home

Going Home


The word home takes on a special meaning to me. I have lived in more homes than I care to count, went to twenty-two different schools, learned to pack quick and many times lived out of boxes. My parents moved a lot, no, my father was not military; I liked to say my birth mother was just a bored housewife who lived on the excitement of new houses.

Going home for me is traveling to my parents home in which I never lived, in a small town where I never unpacked a box or paid rent. However, it is where my dad and mom live now and have for several years, in a big rambling house that often is full to the brim with family.

The miles seem to stretch further apart these days and the trips home less frequent than when I was a young mother. I find the older I get; the busier I get and the less opportunities to travel the distance. I get homesick often, miss my folks and send cards, letters and try to keep in touch on the phones. It’s not the same as walking in that door and being embraced by my mom and dad, or seeing my grandmother smile.

Pictures line my rooms with photos of family in an attempt to gather them close to me. The substitution is not easy and my heart often aches for a visit. We have six children, all fairly close in distance from our home, a home I have lived longer in than I ever thought possible. We have several grandchildren, busy jobs, four pets and a multitude of commitments. I don’t know how I did the travel when my kids were smaller, but it seemed we found more time back then.

Lately, I could feel the disappointment and something like anger in my dad’s voice quite a few times as he encouraged us to make the trip. They were both lonely and health made it harder for them to travel to us. We recently lost our grandfather and grandma is now staying with my folks. I needed to get home, but found it near impossible with football schedules, school commitments, working loads of overtime and just plain exhaustion from trying to keep up with it all.

I noticed a certain edge in my father’s voice when I spoke to him, a longing to see his only daughter and the guilt weighted heavy. I even found myself defensive and dreading the calls home. My father has never been harsh with me, rarely raised his voice and I can only remember one time in my youth did he spank me. So when dad’s voice gets tense with me, it breaks my heart. What’s worse is I knew it was just plain ole homesickness on his part that we come home.

It took a few weeks to clear the calendar, make sure teen son was going to be responsible and daughter would handle the pets. Hubby and I took the first trip ever all alone with no children or grandchildren in tow. We took our time, stopping often on the four hour drive to give my leg a break which swells often from a recent blood clot. We stopped at our favorite shop along the way and loaded up on goodies.

I found myself getting more and more eager as the miles between my parents and our home drew closer. I wanted; no I needed to see them. As we walked into the door mom enveloped me in her arms, she is much shorter than I and almost has to stand on tip toe to greet me, but it was a hug much needed. Grandma’s face lit up in such a beautiful smile and our ole dog Duke came slowly hobbling our way for a sniff. Dad stopped in twice during the evening, taking short breaks from work and I was so happy to feel his rough beard against my cheek. I was home.

The days flew by, the hours of talking, catching up, laughing, touching each other as we walked by just ended way too quickly. Aunts came by, one of my brothers stopped in and the house filled up with the chatter of family who miss each other very much.

As I sat across the table from my father, my dad, no my daddy, I noticed the years had made him even more handsome. His hair gone whiter, his face a little more weathered, his hands tapping as we spoke just like his mother’s used to. All of it endeared me deeply. Mom was her usual happy self with lots of laughter and telling stories. I tried my best to memorize it all, to take some photos, to capture each precious moment as best I could.

Every time I part, I leave chunks of my heart behind. I often go silent in the car ride home and feel the heavy weight of homesickness clamping on my heart and soul. I long for the things I have never had with my parents, living closer. We have always had these miles between us as jobs and husbands took me further away. I have missed much in their lives and they have missed much in my own.

I wish so often that this could change, but I know in my heart, I can never leave my own children to move closer and my parents just wouldn’t be home moving closer to us. So we settle. We wait for those phone calls, we stalk each other on social network, we plan time together and we wait for the chance to see each other once again.

Although we may have so many miles between us, although we miss a lot of the day to day stuff, we can never erase that feeling of going home. We embrace our time together and cherish those moments together. Until we meet again.



Teresa Gale