Where is Home?

Life is a set of experiences that play out much like an old film reel - sequential frames that move from one scene to the next. My Dad always taught me that it is important to continue the film moving forward and not succumb to the temptation to put the film in reverse or stay on one frame for too long.

What are places? Here is what the Baptist Rabbi had to say in one of his written sermons:

"Places are so important to our becoming. Each place is different, setting limitations on our existence and calling forth responses to our unique stimuli. Places are little slices of the universe upon which we forge our development as human beings. A place may not be a utopian setting, but it is the providential rendering of grace to each of us. We cherish our places because they are inextricably woven into the fabric of our identity and awareness of life."

Places. There have been lots of places that I have called home over the years. A house in Jonesboro, two houses in Clinton, three houses in Knoxville all have been called "my home" over the past 48 years. But are they really homes or just places that form my personal concept of home?

We have all experienced those instances where a song plays on the radio or we walk into a space and it takes us back to a particular place in our life. Emotions momentarily return of happiness, loneliness, fear, sadness, or joy. Places can have great control over our lives as they are tied to emotions, experiences, and memories. But that is not home.

A place on 422 Mariner Point Drive has been significant in my life for approximately 25 years. It was a place where laughter erupted, wisdom was shared, holidays were celebrated, grandchildren were raised, and yes...tears were shed with intense pain. Over the past few months, we have cleaned out the prized possessions of a Christ-filled, faithful marriage and nuclear family of 4. As I walk in the house each time, I am bombarded with a flood of emotions, memories, and experiences that have been previous frames in my personal film reel. I hear Dad yelling, "Hello, Kel!" as he would do when he heard me come in the house. I see him sitting in his chair enjoying the backyard view. I visualize us sitting together talking about my day and happenings in the world. I hear Mom yelling, "Kelly, come here," as she often said when she heard the door open. I look outside and see the gazebo that Dad and I built when I was pregnant. I see the dock that he built with his friends which provided the space for us to have many life changing conversations. I notice the walls that we painted together and the shrubs that we trimmed as a team on many occasions. I see the ducks in the backyard and find myself yelling to Mom and Dad as I would do before we opened the back windows to feed them. In every room, there is a piece of my previous life film. The memories are abundant and overwhelming.

As my eyes fill with tears each time I walk through the door, I hear the words of my Dad reminding me that it is dangerous to  stay stagnant. It is unhealthy to live life in reverse. We must continue to push forward, creating new frames, building a healthy journey of life.....even though grief and pain at times accompany.

Places are not our homes. They are simply a temporary structure which occupy our experiences and memories. Places come and go. However, my home is constant. Home for me is in my heart. In my soul. In my very existence. With my family. With my closest friends. With my faith. For me, home is a constant, not constrained within 4 walls.

My brother and I had a choice to make with regards to the temporary place that we call our parents' home. Do we painfully move forward as Dad instructed, or do we put our film reel on pause or reverse? No one said the circle of life was easy. Life without them is brutal. Our decision to sell their "place" has not been made without much consideration. However, my prayer is that this "place" will be a structure for a new wonderful family who can continue to build their own life film. It is a beautiful place. Not only because of the view, but because of the love that was shared for many years there.

I will forever hold these memories as part of my home as I take the Baptist Rabbi's instructions to keep my life frames moving forward. May God bless this process and the future family who occupies this place that means so much to Chris and me.

Adult Orphan's Hiding Place

There is no Earthly love greater than that of a parent and a child. Until I had my own children, I never knew the depth of love between parent and their babies.

I am not the only one to walk the path of grief. We all will walk the journey at one point or another. I am one of the lucky ones. I have a wonderful family, a fabulous circle of friends, two amazing children, and an overall awesome support system. I am beyond blessed. I wanted to share some thoughts on my current journey in hopes that it might help someone else walking this path feel not so alone.

Nothing can prepare you for the loss of both your parents in less than 3 months time. I am now an adult orphan. That is the best way that I can describe it. The roles had been reversed for many years. I was the adult. I was the caregiver. I was the manager and decision maker. But in reality, it didn't matter. They were may parents, and they loved me unconditionally. They ALWAYS had my back and provided unconditional love. They always sacrificed for me. They always had my best interest in mind. I could trust them with anything. They were my safe place.

We went to the beach for Fall Break for the first time in several years last week. Mom and Dad always went with us previously. We entered the beach house, and for the first time, Scott and I occupied the main level master bedroom......the place that Mom and Dad always stayed. As I walked into the room, tears began to fill my eyes. That empty feeling of loneliness came over me that has often slapped me in the face over the past few months. As I unpacked my suitcase, I found a rock. The rock. That special rock that Dad and I made at one of his Parkinson's support group meetings. We were both given a rock and asked to draw a symbol on it that gave us peace. Dad was unable to write at this point, so I drew a cross on both of our rocks. I kept one and gave him one. Somehow, the rock with the cross ended up in my suitcase. How? I can't answer. But with tears streaming down my face, I laid the rock beside my bed. It made me feel as if Mom and Dad were with us all week.

Dad taught me enough about grief to know that what I am feeling is normal. I know I have to feel the pain. I would much rather avoid it, but I am trying to just feel it, cry it out, and move past it. Pain hits at the most random times, when you least expect it. It is a roller coaster of emotions - glad they aren't suffering, but missing/grieving small things you never realized were so meaningful and impactful. When dealing with grief, your circle becomes very small. You have the innate desire to surround yourself with your closest of friends whom you trust the most...the ones who will accept you for who you are at this very moment and support the sadness without judgement. Crowds are difficult. It is hard to pretend you are happy, when you aren't. It is exhausting.

You question many things. What if? What if I would have gotten Dad to the hospital a little faster? What if we wouldn't have moved Mom into assisted living? What if? What if? I keep reminding myself that is only Satan messing with me. But the questions still come.

I rationalize things. I am one of the lucky ones. I had parents that stayed together until I was 47 years old! I had the best. I am blessed. Why should I be sad? I just attended a funeral of a friend who lost her father at 22. How selfish of me to be sad with the blessing I have been given!

The truth is....I just miss them. I miss the comfort of having my parents. No matter how old we are, there is that special bond with our parents that can't be put into words. There is void that is unable to be filled - despite my wonderful support system. I want desperately to rush the process. Get it over with. Be done with grief. Just be happy with what I was afforded, which many people don't get to experience.

The other truth is...I just don't want them to be forgotten. They were amazing Christian humans who made the world a better place. They made me who I am. They played a key role in making Scott the husband and father that he is today and impacted my kids in ways that they can't even put into words. I want their legacy to continue to be known by all. They were much too influential to just be buried and forgotten.

For now, life is just flat out scary without them. I am now the one who occupies the downstairs master bedroom on vacation. My identity as a caregiver for them no longer exists. My prayer is that I can continue to walk through the grieving process and provide the same kind of comfort and love for my own kids and family as the Baptist Rabbi and his wife did for me.

For those who know me well, you know that music is one of my loves. I guess it is one of my love languages, as it brings me comfort and speaks to me in very personal ways. This particular song by Selah has been on constant replay mode recently for me as it summarizes my current relationship with grief. Maybe it will speak to someone else that is walking this journey as well...
People have said it gets easier with time. I guess only time will tell. For now, I will find comfort in my hiding place with the only One that can give ultimate peace.

"You are my hiding place.
You always fill my heart with songs of deliverance,
Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in YOU.
I will trust in YOU,
Let the weak say I am strong in the strength of the Lord."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dR0H0tAYT8  (link to song - it is simply beautiful)