Feeling homesick

Marley Grace. One of the reasons I'm homesick.

It's been a week since I left Pittsburgh. I've been at my late mother's house now for seven days. Obviously, I've learned some things.

• Sometimes, being alone is a good thing.
• Too much of a good thing can be bad.
• I miss my husband.
• He misses me.
• I am now more aware of what Mom's typical day was like... and it hurts.
• People who live alone need people to show them they care. They need conversation. Touch. Food dropped off. Maybe even flowers. They need to know they still matter.
• A home is not just a house. There is an embrace there that remains, even after people die.
• I crave simplicity.
• I despise clutter.
• I needed, desperately needed, a break.
• I needed to grieve.
• I needed time alone to cry.
• Bumps in the night scare me when I'm all alone.
• I'm starting to feel a bit homesick.
• Drinking wine alone is not nearly as enjoyable as drinking it with friends and family.
• Cooking for one is a drag.
• I'm terrified, really... terrified... of being widowed again.
• I really want to keep this house... somehow.
• I love being able to walk places in town (I can't do that where I live).
• I'm enjoying being with people who I have a history with (like over 50 year history with).
• I'm having a hard time focusing on work even without the distractions of home. I guess it's not about where I am, it's about where my mind is.

Sometimes, we all need a change of scenery to put things into perspective. My wish for you is that you can tap into that special place... for an hour... for a day... for a week, and let yourself absorb life's lessons. I believe it will make you a better parent, a better child, a better spouse, and a better friend.

Wishing you life's blessings,

To everything there is a season...

The street where I grew up

It's Tuesday night, I am alone in my childhood home, and I am sad, filled with memories and longing. For those of you who don't know, I lost my mother suddenly in January. My husband and I were here for her 86th birthday at the beginning of the year. We played countless hands of Pinochle, many of which she won, and she kept score without missing a beat. She was tired, but generally in good health. We said goodbye on January 10th and early in the morning of January 12th, she had three massive strokes. She never woke up. 

Since that time, I've been busy, busy, busy. I had writing conferences in March, April, May, and June, and a blogging event in Chicago last week. Plus, there were several trips across the state to get my mom's house ready to be put on the market. 

My childhood home

For some, selling a parent's house is little more than a necessary burden. For us, it is a heartbreak. I grew up in this house. Yesterday, as I drove down the street, the yellow For Sale sign ripped through me. No! I wanted to shout. You can't sell this house. Of course, I'm being emotional and totally unrealistic.

As I said, I'm by myself in my childhood home. After returning from Chicago last week, I realized it was time. Time to grieve. Time to let go. Hopefully, time to heal. You see, my busyness prevented me from experiencing the necessary steps in grief. As a result, I'm rundown (still getting over pneumonia) and depressed. I can't seem to focus. I'm tired. I have no motivation. I'm missing deadlines. Quite simply, I'm just not myself. If you've ever delayed grief, you probably understand exactly what I'm going through. 

I decided the best place to grieve was in the home I was going to be parting with. I drove here yesterday, had dinner with my best friend, Dawn, and then spent the rest of the night (at least until 2 or so), screaming, crying, and calling out for my mommy. It wasn't a pretty scene and I was so thankful for air conditioning and closed windows as I threw myself across her couch, clutching her blanket to my aching chest and weeping. I gave way to the gut-wrenching sobs that have been lingering below the surface, wading in the stagnant waters of delayed grief. 

This is something I could only do when I was completely alone, so I'm thankful for my husband who agreed with me when I said I had to leave him for awhile and travel this journey by myself.

I had hoped Mom would "show up" and comfort me. She didn't. 

Now, I'm sitting in the kitchen listening to the clock tick off the seconds. The refrigerator hums and there is tapping on the keyboard as I write. Other than that, silence. The silence my mother listened to night after night, week after week, month after month, when she was all alone. When I was too busy to visit; when I couldn't take a week off and come to Manheim to spend time with her... but now am finding the time to come and grieve her. It breaks my heart. 

"I'm sorry, Mommy," I cried over and over last night. "I'm so, so sorry."