My House Felt Like a Home

Fall is always a tricky time for me. I love it. I loath it. It is during the Autumnal months when I most often experience growth personally so it resonates with me. It is a time when I reflect as I enter a new year of my life during the peak of fall. It is when the campfires in the backyard become a regular thing and houses become warm homes filled with the wafting scents of applesauce simmering in the crockpot, a big 'ol pot of chili on the stove top, and cornbread in the oven. It is when the shelves are full of the summer's harvest, safely nestled in their perfectly sealed jars for winter consumption. It is when I get to pull the old quilts out of their cedar lined drawers (ok, I don't actually have cedar lined drawers, but in my mind I do...however quilts are plentiful in this home). Hiking becomes enjoyable with the colors striking and vistas breathtaking.

And it's also the time of year when I lost my dad and moved in with my grandmother to help her die at peace in her home, now my home.

so it is tricky to navigate each year, but each year I am able to do so with a little more finesse. Grief does not know a timeline nor a season for sure, but Autumn is just tricky.

Today, I had some reflections I'd like to share:
I posted that my house smelled and felt like a home today. It felt cozy. It was not clean, but it was safe. My son was gleefully hosting a friend who is becoming more and more part of our extended family. It just felt like a home, not just a house.

When the aforementioned child was told, "it's time to come to the table, dinner's read." He looked at me as if I were an alien. And looked at my son like, "forreal?" So I explained we do this crazy thing called eating together at the table every morning and every evening. So he obliged, without any further hesitation. Apparently, despite telling me chili is fine, he does not like chili. But he ate several pieces of cornbread. And we talked. All three of us. We chatted. Laughed. Shared. Heard. We were a family. Even though none of us are blood related. I readily admit I am totally faking it when it comes to this parenting thing and I hit foul balls more than grand slams but on this issue, I hit it out of the ballpark: To break bread with others is to transform your relationship to family status. Even if for just that moment in time, you are family. Connected, bonded, a sister/brotherhood which cannot be broken in that moment. And, really, that moment is all we are guaranteed anyway. Trust me, I know, fall reminds me each year.

Today, grief played a big role in helping me morph my house into a home; four walls into a safe oasis. Three unrelated people into a family.

Today, my house felt like a home.