It is the time for us to go home, or welcome people home. Or just find that place within ourselves we can call home. There are some people who induce that feeling in us of being home. There are times ideas come home to us – as if they never really went away, but were just waiting to be found.
Everybody needs love – be it self-love, or coming from others.
I don’t know which one is the main theme here, and which is the sub-theme – Home or Love. Go ahead and explore…..
It took a huge effort for him to go home. The whole thought of it as home left him feeling ill, so many triggers at the mention of the word.
But Christmas was Christmas, and at the urging of his siblings, he decided to make the effort.
He knew she would be there and the thought of engaging, talking, contacting and being there in the same room filled him with dread.
But home meant something to him. Before the trouble started there had been good memories, past Christmas’ where family had been fun, gifts exchanged and lunch enjoyed by all. He had always enjoyed the company of his brothers and sisters, he was thankful they had stayed by him all these years.
He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with; he had his share of bad habits but then who didn’t. He knew home meant a lot to them, the youngest of his siblings had not so long ago left home, and he knew that had been a difficult undertaking as she had made his life hell as she had done to him.
But home was a place of belonging and love. The love had remained but the belonging he fought with in the days before going home. He stayed with his dad the night before, his sister one up from him had come around and talked to him about the next day, the lunch, how she was and what changes there had been.
She had remarried, a new guy, nothing like dad, more like her dad, a man he loved and with whom he’d spent a lot of time when growing up.
When the time came his sister came to collect him, and he took a deep breath and sat in the seat next to her in the car. The house was still the same, that sickly pink colour his siblings had referred to as the fairy floss house.
Inside she was there to greet him, their words awkward, hesitant and uncomfortable but she did try to make him feel welcome.
As always she put on a show, all pretend, always well behaved but underneath he felt the rage of words needing to be said coming from her. He felt this because he knew she would never admit responsibility for the past but rather if given the opportunity place the blame squarely on his shoulders or at least on those of his father.
Looking around he realised he was in a place that had once been his home but was now a shell of what it once was. Love and respect had gone, there were memories he was sure, but they were somewhere else, hiding in one of the many rooms she had closed up because she’d filled them with junk to maybe hide the pain each room contained.
Afterwards, he reflected on what and where home was to him now. It certainly wasn’t in the past, but maybe in the shabby room he rented downtown that contained everything that was him.
Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2018/11/22/reenas-exploration-challenge-64/
Reblogged this on Reena Saxena and commented:
A treatise on what constitutes home …. by Michael.
You are so right about that. Everything that is ‘us’ – spells home, not plush interiors. That familiar mug for coffee, the fave cushion or the desk and the screensaver on the laptop….
Thanks so much Reena.
I love the quote you have started this piece with. Also your story struck a chord with me. I like the sentence “Love and respect had gone, there were memories he was sure, but they were somewhere else, hiding in one of the many rooms she had closed up because she’d filled them with junk to maybe hide the pain each room contained”.
My old family home is in a similar condition and my true home is elsewhere now.
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