Sunday Post 146: Please Celebrate Me Home

It’s Thanksgiving, and I am thankful.  But I can’t say that there weren’t a handful of times this past weekend that I didn’t get that lump in my throat.  Some of you are familiar with it.  It’s directly connected to the wound – the one that pierced your heart a while back.

It’s pretty much in remission, but not 100%.

It hit when we first gathered around the table for the feast, a hard swallow kept it in.  Then again when I glanced at her picture, sort of on purpose, sort of not.

The Christmas music is playing on the radio now.  Cheesy Kenny Loggins say to celebrate him home.  I got no idea what that means but the girls and I belt it out like we do.  Problem is, home isn’t a place.  It’s not the nice painted brick house where we raised our girls.  Not the porch where I sit to enjoy a cup of coffee.  It’s not the dining room table where we gather for family meals.

It’s not even my parent’s house nor hers.

I guess she was sort of my home – my home base at least.

It feels a bit weird when you’re running hard and you realize that your destination no longer exists.

We’re all doing well.  We’ve recreated life.  We’ve done so in many wonderful ways.  But home?  I’m just not 100% sure where that is anymore.

Purchase Danny’s Book:  Laughter, Tears and Braids or at Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh

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16 Comments

  1. You say this eloquently.

    Reply
  2. Wow. It’s remarkable that you wrote HOME as your subject because I just reflected on that as I took a stroll to our mailbox yesterday. Home was always where my mom lived. For the past 10+ years, my mom has lived in a small apartment attached to my house.
    Now, Mom is in her eternal home. So, where is my home now? I don’t have parents or a place to say,”I am going home for Thanksgiving.” I guess that will always be a heartache for me.
    I am now the home for my children. I don’t know if I can fill Mom’s HOME shoes, but I will try.
    God bless you and your family .

    Reply
  3. Thank you for the gift of your vulnerability, Danny.

    Reply
  4. Oh, how I understand that so well…I truly haven’t felt “at home” since Jason died, since we sold our house that was supposed to welcome home our kids and grandkids each year for holidays and such, since we left the state that was more home to me than where I grew up. I long for my “home.” I just don’t know where it is any more or if it even exists. As you said, it’s not as if we haven’t smiled over the years or felt joy, but it’s definitely not the same. Rebuilding…trying to build a new “home.”

    Reply
  5. Perhaps you just answered the question I posted on my own blog. I’m homeless.

    Reply
  6. “It was like coming home… only to no home I had ever known.” — Sleepless in Seattle

    It’s as if we all are just nomads, moving from one place to another, searching for a home. A place to rest. A place to love. The only things we pack are the things we fit into our hearts — both burdens and blessings — and the people we hold in our arms.

    Reply
    • Mel Ham

       /  December 1, 2013

      Deana,
      that is exactly the line that came to mind this am when I read this.

      Reply
  7. Having lost my brother earlier this year it was very, very hard to sit down at the table for the Thanksgiving meal – even harder coming up with something to be thankful for, that I could state and not burst into tears! So, home is where I make it. There will always be an emptiness in my heart, but that’s okay, too – it just shows that my heart got used while I was alive.

    Reply
  8. Mom

     /  December 1, 2013

    Love that last one…a used heart.

    Reply
  9. Well said. Home is in our hearts and when a part of that is missing it’s hard to know where home is anymore.

    Reply
  10. Evie Lichti

     /  December 3, 2013

    We continue to look forward to that Eternal Home that the Lord has prepared for us where we’ll all be together when we trust Jesus as our Savior. THAT will be Thanksgiving!

    Reply
  11. clepcoach

     /  December 4, 2013

    Well said. My mom passed away in October just days before my parents’ 53rd anniversary. Dad spent Thanksgiving with us this year, but I could see him choking back tears much as you described in this post. We all miss her terribly, but I know the hole in Dad’s heart is deepest. It’s been 18 years since I buried a daughter and the scar is still tender. Time may ease the pain but it never seems far; easily recalled by the most random act or thought. I empathize with you on this journey of finding a new normal that will never be “normal” for you.

    Reply

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