These are some pictures from Josiah's children's choir class yesterday--the last class session of this semester--which Josiah was very sad about until I consoled him by reminding him that his classes begin again in January so this wasn't really the end! Since I've already written about his choir experiences, I'll shift my attention to something that happened at the end of class yesterday that got me thinking...Mrs. Anderson, the teacher, had a beautifully illustrated book with the words of the song "Over the River and through the Woods" in it, which she sang to the children while she turned the pages of the book. This is a song that my family is very familiar with, and the boys and I had fun singing it some in the car on our way home. In case you're not acquainted with it, it's an old song that talks about going to grandmother's house for the holidays.
As I thought about the words of the song, I realized once again that I no longer have a house like that to come home to--because I live in it! None of my grandparents are alive, so I no longer have the anticipation of holidays at their houses. And now that we are living in my childhood home (a wonderful blessing which I'm not negating a bit!), I never have the experience of coming home for the holidays--or for anything. After I left home--first to college, then to married life with Jeff in California and Israel--it was always such a joy to come home. I still remember vividly how it felt to travel and finally arrive...to enter my parents' home...to wander around and look at everything again...to see the changes that had been made since I was last here...to sleep in my childhood bedroom...to eat my mother's cooking (well, I still get to do that, fortunately!)...to feel the rush of memories...to smell the familiar scents...to come home, plain and simple.
Now I am the home. And my siblings still get to come home to that, for which I'm very grateful. I don't know if the process of coming home is still the same to them or not; I would suppose that it's different, but hopefully still very special to have family living in this home and to preserve and build on those childhood memories. Now I am the hostess...which I love...but I miss my mom being in that role, and even more so, my grandmothers.
In any case, the advantages of living here, having this home, being so close to my parents, etc. FAR outweigh the disadvantages, so I'm not complaining in the least. I guess I'm just growing up--and realizing that things change, and can't possibly stay the same.
I was reminded of this quote by Wendy Wasserstein: Being a grownup means assuming responsibility for yourself, for your children, and--here's the big curve--for your parents.
Yep, I agree. And I think that third part is the hardest one of all.
3 comments:
I also ponder what it will mean to be responsible for elderly parents, especially as the time for my mum-on-law to move into our village draws near. At the moment I gain so much from their nearness, but there will be a time when I will have to be the caregiver to two sets of parents (although fortunately there is a large age difference) -- my parents on my own now that my sister has died. It's daunting -- but I also feel without doubt that it is a duty and a privlege. And I welcome the opportunity to give back to them the caring they lavished on me.
I also ponder what it will mean to be responsible for elderly parents, especially as the time for my mum-on-law to move into our village draws near. At the moment I gain so much from their nearness, but there will be a time when I will have to be the caregiver to two sets of parents (although fortunately there is a large age difference) -- my parents on my own now that my sister has died. It's daunting -- but I also feel without doubt that it is a duty and a privlege. And I welcome the opportunity to give back to them the caring they lavished on me.
I remember losing "bits" of home. First, it was "pops" place. My mom's dad, he died, and my brother moved in, but eventually, the place was sold in the 90's I believe. Then there was my last residence; I graduated HS and went to seminary, and my parents moved in the process... later in life I got to live there for a while; then grandma Fisher died, and her house was sold... then dad died, and mom moved in with sis... Now it seems, home is whereever I can be with my family, siblings, or mom. Home stopped being the place, and started being the company of the people... and of couse some of the familiar things they seem to tote from house to house on the journey! I am glad we have a place we call "home" for our kids.
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