Page 50 - Rana Sampson Issue (1)

Home

By Deanna Bates

"I want to go home." Sobbing, I bury my face further into My husband and I had found the perfect home for us:
my pillow. As I burrow into my familiar mattress, I whimper my Brand new, a single story with everything we needed as a couple.
mantra..."home." Selling our home more quickly than we anticipated, we hurriedly
packed and stored our belongings to meet our 30 day escrow. We
It is my bed, but it's no longer my bedroom of the past 18 rented an apartment for the 6 months we had to wait for the new
years. I am in a small apartment crammed with boxes of memories home to be built. And so, I found myself sobbing into my pillow...
that surround and haunt me. As a child, my family's frequent moves left me feeling
rootless. I longed for a home instead of just a place to live. I was
We have just sold the house we raised our daughter in. resolute in my desire that our daughter would have a home to grow
When we first moved in as the parents of a toddler, the large two up in, a place she knew she belonged. After moving, I found myself
story was filled with the squeals of a toddler running naked through bereft- angry at myself for selling my grown daughter's home and
the house after her bath, the twirls of a budding ballerina, and the taking away her security. I was filled with remorse for our deci-
chants of the Indian Princess tribe. Soon there were pool and slum- sion. The storage boxes that lined our tiny apartment taunted me

50

ber parties with teenagers toasting s’mores over the fire pit. Our with their contained memories and rebuked me with their presence.
home was alive with life and love as our daughter grew. What had I done? I just wanted to go home.
When our only child moved out of state for college, the Then, it struck me. I wasn't crying for my daughter. I was
house grew silent. Suddenly, it seemed large...and quiet. My hus- crying for me, the child who longed for the security to put down
band and I marveled at how one less person could change the feel- roots and call a place home. The child whose stomach clenched
ing of a place so dramatically. We kept the TV and radio on to try every time the moving boxes came out, signaling another change
and fill the empty space, but it was just noise. We had to admit to was coming to disrupt the fragile roots I had planted.
ourselves that this chapter of our lives was over. We were trying to As I lay, surrounded by boxes, my adult self comforted the
hold onto memories by holding onto a house that no longer worked child that still lived inside me. "You'll be alright," I soothed. "Home
for us. Diagnosed with a brain tumor that affected my balance, the is with you. It's in your daughter's smile, your husband's hugs, and
stairs had become a source of anxiety for me as I navigated my way your mother's laugh. Home is when you close your eyes and feel
between the two stories. The pool that had brought so much delight your Dad's hand touch yours. Home is in your heart where it's been
to children and teenagers over the years had become a mainte- all along. You'll be alright." And so, I closed the door on part of my
nance chore...and, of course, there was the silence that filled the life and prepared to open a new door to a new house, no...a new
large rooms. home.
March/April 2011