“The moment when you realise that the place you grew up in for so long is no longer home. And you wonder where home will be………”
A friend tweeted this a few weeks ago . There were some interesting responses. Agreeing. Empathy. Sympathy. Cyber hugs.
And me? I don’t think I responded, but it did remind me of that old saying “Home is where the heart is”
But we all move around so much these days, where is that?
Is it your childhood home ? And if you move during those formative years? Which is the one that has a special place in your heart ?
I have no memories of the house I lived in with my Birth Mother as a very small child, but do have vague ones of the day I came to live with my adoptive Mum and Dad. Though I am not sure if there are true memories or stories I’ve been told.
We lived in a house near the hospital Dad worked in. It was a warm, cosy, noisy place, with a very large garden, with big plum and apple trees which my (very) older brothers would hide in from me,then jump out and scare me half to death! When I was a little bigger they would help me to climb them…usually running off and pretending to leave me stranded!
We moved from there when I was about 5, and I lived at the new house until I was 17, and left to commence my training. I always thought of this as ‘home’ So is that where my heart lay?
Then what happens when you leave home?
Who remembers lying in a strange bed, in a strange room on their first night away from home….crying and longing to be back there,even though you couldn’t wait to get away.
And what if your parents move house after you’ve left home? How does that make you feel? Does the new house ever feel like home?
Mum and Dad moved to a new house in a completely new town after I’d left to start my training. The first time I went back it certainly didn’t feel like home to me. Nothing familiar or comforting in ‘my’ bedroom, it could as well have been a hotel. And it never really felt like home. My heart was definitely not there. And there were no real emotions when the house was cleared and sold after Dad died. Yet when I pass my childhood home I am still amazed by the waves of nostalgia that sweep over me, and the vivid memories that instantly come to mind. In fact that could be a whole new blog!
There have been other place I’ve called ‘home’. Nurse’s homes, flats, house shares. Some of which I remember with great fondness, and other that I can barely recall. So I guess you could say my heart never really lay there.
Then there’s your first ‘proper home of your own’ You know the one, the first time you feel really grown up. You’re in a relationship, it’s the ultimate commitment to set up home together. Ours was a three storey town house. It was the first time I was able to have a dog again. We lived there until our daughter was 1, then moved to a bigger place with a proper garden.
But I think a little piece of my heart will always be there. It was probably one of the happiest periods of my life. Master Chef lives there now, so I’m often there, and although it looks very different now, if I close my eyes I can still be transported back to those early, heady days.
And then the house we bought became full of children and truly became ‘home’ It’s filled with memories, and every crack, scuff, and mark reminds me of a story…of growing, laughing, fighting, dancing children, assortments of pets, and troupes of friends. As the family increased and grew the house shrank. We considered moving but ended up building a large extension…just as K was leaving to go to university. And, although she has never said, I think the whole feel of the house changed for her, and it was never quite the ‘home’ it had been.
Over the years we’ve had various boyfriends and girlfriends living here. K and G lived here for 4 months (with a small baby!) after they sold their first home and before they moved into their new one.
A moved out and back in on a number of occasions. The last time complete with the girlfriend who he is marrying in 4 months
And although all the children have moved out, if I ever mention moving I am shouted down by a chorus of ” Oh, but Mum, it won’t be home”
Yet sometimes, when everyone has gone back to their own homes, I look around….and despite the wonderful memories It feels that maybe the heart (or my heart) has gone from here.
And I don’t really know where it is.
But then they all come back for the day and I remember.