Sunday, August 05, 2007

My parents' home will always be my home

Greetings from New Mexico.

I am the only one awake now. My parents are asleep in the master bedroom of this, their retirement house. My son is asleep in the living room, Bo Peep and The Princess are curled together like puppies in the guest room - slash- office they call "The Bear's Lair." (The Bear being my father.) Little Warrior is asleep in her pop up crib at the foot of my bed. (The Husband is back home, working another week, and undoubtedly taking advantage of going to sleep at a decent time.)

When I was, oh, in my early 20's, my parents retired, selling off my childhood home and purchasing an RV. They were full-time RVers for a while; a few years ago they picked this permanent home.

What is curious ... interesting ... is that wherever they go, the feeling of being safe and secure follows. I can remember staying with them in their RV in a tiny campground in Florida. There, on a little foldout couch, across from the door, I felt completely and utterly safe. Here, too. I have never lived in this house, or even this state. But I come here, and the cloak of safety encompasses me. I am home.

It seems corny to quote Robert Frost's, "When you have to go there, they have to take you in." But the words never get stale to me, nor does the next line, ""I should have called it Something you somehow haven't to deserve."

I don't have to be here. They don't have to take me in. But we greet each other with hugs and kisses, parent and child, grateful for the time we have together.

And I am home.


ogre said...


The shock comes when one's parents sell that home. It's a small shock; just a sort of unmooring. They're there--just a different there. And it's there, if occupied now by others.

The real shock comes when that structure is destroyed. The only home that features as a constant element of my growing up burned sometime the year after my father sold it. Just knowing that felt--feels--strange; somewhat like the death of a parent, to my surprise.

Nancy said...

My room is now my Dad's office. The carpet is still pink...the only sign I was once there. It still feels like my house, though. I go there almost every day to pick up or drop off my son, and he is at home there now, too. I really like that a lot.

I think I would be okay if they sold it, but it would blow my mind if it was destroyed somehow.

Gorgeous post.

Christine Robinson said...

Home is where your parents are. Welcome to New Mexico!