I went home yesterday.

Sure, it can be argued that it was merely a house, and a family really makes a home. And this is true. My house now - with my husband and son - is my home.

But my first home, the one I lived in the majority of my life (and where my heart still hides), is almost three hours east, down a long highway that starts out jammed with exits full of WalMart's and fast food joints, stretches out along the plains, past all sorts of exits and overpasses that appear the same (according to my husband, but of course, I can name them off by sight alone), and into my little hometown.

It's intoxicating to go home.

This is the road that leads to my house:

Every time I turn the car to go up this road - and for the last ten years (as my aunt and uncle bought the house from us, so we go at least once a year) - I still believe for a quick second my dad's truck will be in the driveway. It's a little hopeless heart wish that he'll still be waiting on the front porch. Of course, he's been gone for twelve and that wish is impossible. But if I close my eyes tight enough, I see it the way it used to be.

Being at the house, of course, my dad is everywhere I turn. Memories I've forgotten come bounding back when I'm hardly expecting them. I feel like most times I keep my head down and look only where it's safe to look. I can sit in the dining room and talk to my grandmother, with her polite questions if I'm involved in anything interesting, and if I'm still playing the piano "because you should, you should".

If I look too long at a room, I'll remember how once he pretended to sleep on the dining room floor, and when I carefully walked by, he'd grab my leg, pull me down and tickle me silly.

Standing in my childhood bedroom, I'll remember the time I called out in the night because of a monster in my room, and my dad dutifully got out of bed, slept next to me, most uncomfortably for the night (all 6'5" of him in a full bed).

And of course, years later, when I moved to the basement and this childhood room became our 'piano room', he stood by the door listening to me play "Sea of Love" because I knew it was one of his favorite songs. I'd forgotten that, really, until I allowed myself to stand in that room again yesterday, making myself to be present in that moment. I could see him leaning against the door frame....

I swear I heard my dad. He was always just around the next corner, showing me something else I'd forgotten. I was carried away yesterday. I needed the break, the retreat, the memories. I needed comfort yesterday, and I needed him. And I felt like he was reminding me of something.

And standing out on the road, I remembered. I was reminded. The last time I stood in that spot, I was yelling at God for taking him from me. I was telling God to please take me instead - that my father could do more good than I could even think about doing. It was a colossal mistake and I would gladly trade places.

And so there I stood, twelve years later, listening to the squeals of my little boy swinging on the swing my father had made for me. I can't tell you how important seeing my son's delight on that swing gave to me, watching him exploring the same yard I'd explored. I saw it all again through HIS eyes.

Life went on. It didn't go the way I'd planned, not at all. My heart still breaks and hurts, but I remember that the one true love of my life - as crazy as that sounds - was that man.



I sang this song to myself, and now I'll share it with you:

"...If you leap awake in the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second you can't remember where you are
Just open your window and follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain where we counted every falling star

I believe a light that shines on you will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee there's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave 'til I leave you with a sweet dream in your head

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you ..."

"Father and Daughter", by Paul Simon

Labels: father and daughter, going home, mothers day