A Home

My father in law has been in a nursing home since last July. His health had deteriorated to a point that it was no longer an option for him to stay in his home. I'm happy to say that he has improved since he's been there, but the reality is, he will not improve to the point where he can go home again. The reason he's doing as well as he is, is clearly because of the round the clock care he receives there.

For any of you who have had to deal with this type of a situation, you understand the incredible financial burden having a loved one in a nursing home can create if it's not prepared for. I was floored to find out the monthly expense to a resident in a facility like this! Without going into too much detail, it's coming to a point where his home will most likely have to be sold in order to ensure he can stay in the nursing home. His home is at the shore and has been in the family for generations, making this a pretty unbearable task at hand.

My husband and I took a ride to the house today to begin determining what needs to be done before listing the house. As we drove the familiar streets we've driven countless times over the years, I began to feel the emotional drain this situation has put on us. I was fifteen the first time my husband took me to this house and the memories here are just too many to count.

Memories of partying with friends when we were in our teens, fireworks on the beach on the fourth of July. Playing frisbee on the sand bars and subsequently slicing my foot open on a big clamshell. Receiving several stitches in that wound and almost passing out as they scraped the sand out of it because the novicaine didn't seem to be taking!

Memories of bringing our boys there when they were young and sitting for hours as they played. There were few places we could bring our active boys where they would be content for long periods of time, and this was one of those special places. It's a small beach, with rocks jetting out on either side which were the boundaries they did not pass. We didn't worry about them wandering off or getting lost there. Oh, the hours and hours they spent crabbing on those rocks, and making friends with other kids who would come with their families to do the same. The many walks that brought us far out into the ocean on the sand bars that would magically appear at low tide. Of course, the walks always began with the boys moaning to be picked up over the beginning part which consisted of slimy sand and snails (this was before water socks). You haven't lived until you've felt the soft squish of slimy sand, filled with snails smooshing through your toes!

Then there was my father in law's wedding in the back yard. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I remember how much fun my boys had manning the keg of beer for the wedding guests. They had a tip jar and would get a quarter or two every time they filled a beer. I recall them making out very well that day. Yeah, I know, mother of the year award!

The lobster dinners on Saturday nights, the smell of the bacon my father in law would cook on Sunday mornings to lure us out of bed. The sunshine, the fun, the togetherness. As I thought about having to say goodbye to this home, and the heavy heart it's causing us all, especially my husband, I began to think about a home and the memories it holds.

A house begins with someone's creative vision and a building crew's hard work. Then comes floors and walls, windows and ceilings and lots of other intricate details. A house doesn't become a home though, until it has people living inside of it. A house, for many, is a place where new beginnings come alive, and that's when it starts to change into something much more than a house.

Maybe it starts with the floor embracing the feet of two newlyweds, dancing the night away together. Maybe some of the first sounds the walls hear are those of excitement and love as their new life together gets underway.

Then perhaps that same floor begins to serve as a saving grace, as it creeks a quiet meditation to the mom who is up all night, rocking her sleepless baby in her arms, as they snuggle together in Grandma's antique rocking chair.

In time, the walls begin to fill with noise. That sleepless baby's cry, being soothed by Mom's lullaby, has now morphed into the sounds of a toddler, running barefoot on those floors, yelling, "You can't catch me Daddy!" and the wild laughter of both of them as he does! Maybe there's even the sound of a jealous dog's bark, wanting desperately to join in on the fun.

As the family grows and time goes on, the walls of a home accumulate so much. Maybe the sound of a piano playing, or a drum set drumming. Or sibling laughter, sibling knock down, drag outs, and the forceful tone of a parent's reprimand as they attempt to play referee. The endless sound of washing machines and dryers, cleaning uniforms, and ballet outfits, and work clothes, and towels, and you name it. Balls being thrown inside and denting those walls, despite the many warnings that this is not allowed! Or maybe the sound of the glass breaking as it hits a window, smashing it to pieces. The sound of that same window being replaced and some years later serving it's purpose well as a means for the teenager to sneak out of the house as Mom and Dad sleep soundly, believing that all's well. And then, the excrutiating sound of the clock on the wall, ticking, ticking, ticking, as Mom and Dad wait, after discovering that teenager is not in his bed.

The mounds of dirt and piles of dust, the stripping of wallpaper and new coats of paint as those floors and walls begin to show their age. The dancing and resting, the arguments and heart to heart discussions. The joys, the heartaches and yes, too many memories to count. A home is our sanctuary through them all.

So what is the appropriate way to say goodbye to a home? I suppose with grace, and a grateful heart, and an understanding that as loved as a home can be, the people who gave it life to begin with have more value.

Thanks for all the memories. May you provide countless more for whoever finds their way through your doors next.

xo,
Carrie