Can you go home again?



Home

 Something that has always bothered me was that my kids had no 'hometown'.  Being a military family, we moved every few years.  When Michaela had to write about her hometown for school one time, she chose to write about my hometown, but privately lamented her lack of one.

I am from a small town.  So is her father.  So is my husband.  All of our parents have lived in the same place for as long as we can remember.  We have someplace to go home to.  It may change a little bit from year to year, but not so much and not so fast that we can't keep up with it during annual visits.  Fast enough that we can reminisce about the "I remember whens".   Until this week I thought this was important, but now I have a slightly different perspective. 

This week we are home at my husband's family's house for a very sad reason.  His mother passed away.   It wasn't unexpected and in all the ways you can imagine, it was better for her.  But now her home sits empty.  For now Bill owns it, but it may stay empty, it may get sold, it may get passed down to his brother.  I don't know.  I know we won't live here.  And even with his aunts and siblings still living in the area, will we visit again?  I don't know.  Neither does he and that is very sad.  To have a home to go home to, and have it taken away, is sad.  Is it sadder than not having one to start with?  I don't know.

Our society is changing so much that I could make the argument that indeed, it is better that way.  To not be attached to a place that you will inevitably see sold during your lifetime.  It is the rare family these days that passes real estate down through the generations.  It is rare (and envious) for a family to stay in one town or even one state.  We are a transient society.  Perhaps it is better to be attached to the people and not the place.

I know that it is inevitable in my lifetime that my parents home will be sold.  It is also likely that I will not return to that town much once they are gone.  My brother lives nearby and there may be occasional visits (I certainly hope) between us and during those I may stop by the town just to see how it has changed or to visit old friends, but my place in that town will belong to someone else.  My little bedroom overlooking the streets will be occupied by someone else.  I don't like the way that feels.  In my mind, I own that bedroom.  It is my room.  I haven't lived in it for 30 years, but it is still my room and the one across the hall is my brother's room.

I have to wonder if maybe being military children wasn't the better option or at least just as good.  They learned to be attached to people, but not places and things.  They learned about loss of friendship and growing apart but also of staying in touch and maintaining a bond.  They don't feel tied down or obligated to stay near a place because it is home.  They learned that one place is as good as another if you are with people you love and they learned that just because someone does something a bit different doesn't mean they are wrong. 

I have spent many hours wondering if we did the right thing by scattering (I use that term loosely) Michaela's remains in the ocean, depriving myself and others of a 'place' to go be with her.  I have beat myself up over that decision many times, but this trip has made me rethink that as well.  And that is a subject for a later blog.