Going ...Home?

Current Mood: Crushed

When I hear someone say "welcome home" I think of the day I first laid my daughter in her crib. And above that crib, I had painted on the wall " I love you Tori." It wasn't easy to see. It was tucked in with all the flowers and teddy bears I has spent months handpainting. When she was old enough to understand I showed it to her and said "if ever you have a doubt its written here for you to see. " I put my daughter to bed in that very room for 7 years. It had always been just the two of us, but then I got married and we left that house, and the words on the wall.

"Welcome home" took on another meaning after a 3 month hospital stay for which I had been very sick. Tori was about 9 then, yelling it as she ran to meet me at the door. I remember her walking behind me, untangling my oxygen hose from everything it got caught on. It felt so good to be back in my own bed, with her hugged up next to me confessing her fears of losing me. I remember saying to her as I planted a kiss on her head, "I am here now and we are home together. " My husbands job then moved us 250 miles away, to Ardmore.

"Welcome Home" was written on the card the realtor had left on the kitchen counter. We had never lived in such a glamorous house before. It had 4 bedrooms, the coolest kitchen I had ever seen, an upstairs AND a downstairs, a hot tub in a huge backyard, and room to plant gardens I could be proud of. I was going to school and working nights then. When I got home at night my husband then left for his job. The conversations with my daughter then were "when will you be home?" It was a beautiful house we had- but no time for us to share it. It was a lovely house, but not a happy home.

"Welcome home" is what I said to Tori when we pulled up to our house in the hills. Here we were, just her and I again, she was then 12. But things were much different this time. To this day I refer to our house as a "shabby-shack." It has a metal roof that is full of leaks, more mice than I care to admit too, a toilet that won't flush, and until just recently no running water from the bathroom sink- just to name a few. I came here with nothing. Almost everything was bought from Salvation Army. But it didn't matter. It was my dream home. Way-out in the country with hardly a neighbor around. Tori flourished in her new small school. She's had horses, cows, pigs, goats, and chickens to raise. We became friends with no Internet or cable tv to distract us. We began sleeping in the same bed at times for warmth when we had no propane to heat the house, but now it's because we want to. We've lived in several houses but this was the only one that ever felt like our "home "

"Welcome home" is probably what my mother will say when we pull into the driveway of my childhood home. We have lots of wonderful memories in that house, but it is not our home. "Our home" has a kitchen full of recipes we have not yet tried. It has a pear tree that occassionally bares fruit for us to eat. It has a hammock where you can lay in the shade and be lazy. There is a storm cellar we've never had to use but makes us feel safe just knowing its there. But best of all there is a door. A door that keeps everything that is "us" behind it. It is proof that for the last 4 years I was able to provide for my daughter.

I am thankful we have a house to go to now in our desperate time of need, but my head will hang in shame as we leave. I no longer will have a key to a door that holds our dreams, and I wonder "where will my daughter remember as home?" So tonite as me and my 16 year old lay sleeping, and on my shoulder she rests her head, I will say "you... here with me, is my favorite place and where you will always have a home."

Tori you are the best part of who I am or what I will ever be. You are the first thought in everything I do, dream and hope for. All I have to give you in 4 days for your birthday is the promise of eternal love, and that someday I will again hold my head high for you. And make you as proud of me as I have always been of you. You will always be my baby girl. And you don't need a painting on a wall that says "I love you," just look into my eyes. It's there for all the world to see.

Originally written:  Monday, October 27, 2008