The above photograph was one of many I took last fall as the leaves were changing. This yard has always been beautiful in the fall and spring. I wanted to capture the significant changes in colors in a short time frame. I knew it would be the last fall I would be looking at this yard.
This yard was at my Mom’s home.
I closed on the sale of her house last week. This was the yard I grew up in. The yard that held impromptu (and planned) baseball games, was a great place to practice tumbling runs and peaceful to view. Although I haven’t lived in this property for nearly 15 years, this was home.
In today’s society it is rare to find someone who hasn’t had several childhood homes. I have had only two. My husband moved multiple times in his childhood. Although he was born and raised in Florida; he now considers Kentucky his home. I can drive throughout Central Kentucky and see the properties which were a part of my life. There is the farm of my maternal grandparents (which is only five minutes from where I currently live), my paternal grandparents farm which has been and continues to be in the family for over 100 years, our first apartment in Lexington, our first house.
Although I can go to and drive by these places, they are no longer home to me. Finalizing the sale of the property has had me thinking about home.
What does home mean?
Where is home?
There is the saying “ A house is not a home.”
My examination of this leads me to agree. A house is structure – a stage where the lives of it’s inhabitants are played out. A house can only provide the backdrop and we are the actors, the scriptwriters, the energy.
It never bothered me to return to my mom’s house after her death. I spent hours upon hours going through the belongings which were the props of my mother’s life and house. There was her clothing, her furniture, her decorations. I relived many happy memories while taking on this task. Last fall I transplanted perennial flowers from her yard to my own as I wanted to take a piece of this with me.
But this house was no longer my home.
At my mom’s death, the reason that I felt this was home was no longer.
What makes a home?
It is the people and the love they have for each other.
Without my Mom’s love and energy, the house was a shell waiting for new play.
I would be lying if I did not admit there is sadness in that I do not have a place to return to. The reality is that I am sad that I do not have my mother or my grandmother. It is not the fact that I will no longer have the house to visit. Home was where they were at with their love.
I am blessed in regards that I have created a beautiful home with James. We spent months stalking floor plans, looking at property (we even looked at property in my old home town but realized we didn’t belong there), and choosing the details after making a down payment. Upon moving in, with boxes all around us and half our furniture waiting to be delivered, I said “This house feels like home.”
At our Christmas Open House that year, a dear friend stated as he was leaving, “Your house is beautiful I can tell there is a lot of love here.” I We couldn’t have received a greater compliment.
I took one last walk around my Mom’s house last Tuesday before I did the mandatory calls of cutting off the electric and water. I walked the rooms and yard and smiled at the memories and love I had received there. As I was leaving, I noticed the daffodils and hyacinth would be blooming soon.
I felt this sign of new beginnings was appropriate.
The new owner is recently divorced and is starting a new beginning in a new town.
The stage rooms are empty and are ready for a new story to begin.