Returning Home

Returning home...
What does this even mean?

In the literal sense... I did.
Evacuation order lifted.
Gratitude. Grace.
The drive.

"Thank You Firefighters!"
welcomed me back to the 
Residents Only area.

Tears of relief.
My road, my driveway,
my sweet little home.
Messy, but unharmed.

My feet, hesitant from
leftover shock, carried me
inside, room to room.

Glances for things 
intact and mine.

But mine is an illusion, 
isn't it?

Are the drapes mine?
The couch? The dust?

I sweep away cobwebs.
Feather duster my way
from shelf to shelf.
Photos... too many to 
pack in an emergency.

But mine?

I wish to claim it all.
In that claim I grasp
at security, permanence. 

In this living room,
permanence stopped
breathing - twice.

In this home, I witnessed
uncertainty in plans,
lost dreams of being married
for fifty years.

But we did make it to 
twenty-five, celebrated
here in this home.

And more impermanence
as I held her hand, too.
Same living room, same
hospital bed, same hospice.
Just a different week, 
a different loved one.

Were they returning home?

Three years have passed
and there are still times I
dread returning home...
to the loss, the emptiness,
the dust, and even 
the pictures.

But it's the only home I have
and I want to claim it as mine,
although it isn't.
I can't sell it, or remodel,
or make major decisions.
But I can act as if it's 
mine, fill it with things
called mine, hold tight
to some kind of order,
cleanliness, style...
and experience a 
sense of home.

A home that had two 
parents, four children,
numerous pets and, 
at times, my beloved mother
each returning home
for the evening, for the 
holidays, for the summer.

But two have left,
transcended these living
rooms walls forever.

Two have grown and
moved to bigger places -
the real world, maybe.
And, yes, they do still
return home for visits.

And then there are the  
younger two, ready soon
to move on to adulthood
and find their ways through 
life, ever unfolding.

So the impermanence 
rises again...
again bringing me to the 
realization that home,
to me, is the most
sacred of words.

Regardless of growing children,
terminal illnesses, potential fires,
or the nuances of ownership, 
it is always my intention to welcome
myself back... returning home.

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