This Old House
5:08 p.m. - 2003-11-19
I decided to drop by my parents' house this afternoon on the way home from work. Okay, truth be told, I had to pick up the Christmas lights we used for the wedding (they're Alan's mom's, and she wanted them back STAT), so there was an actual reason for my going there.
God, I love that house. It's the only home I've ever known, since I lived there from birth 'til college. I know it like the back of my hand, every nook and cranny. I can walk through it at midnight without ever flipping a switch and be completely comfortable. It's laid out rather strangely, all long and windy, and when friends would come over they'd always end up getting lost in it.
It's weird for my parents not to be there, though. Since they're in Florida, my brother has been staying by himself, and he's taking his toll on the place. It's a wreck. Dishes piled high in the sink, clothes strewn from one end to the other, guns and knives lying everywhere. I wasn't all that shocked to see it in such a state of disaster--I know what a slob he is--but it just felt so wrong. It's supposed to be clean there. The washing machine should be going, and there should have been a pot of something simmering on the stove. My mother should have come round the bend to greet me when I walked in, and my dad is supposed to be in front of the computer.
I miss my parents.
I can't even begin to think about the years ahead, because I know that it'll involve them getting old. Eventually they won't live there at all, and I don't know how I'll be able to handle that. For all the bitching I did about my family while I was growing up--even as much as I complain about them now--I love them so, so much.
Instead of just picking up the lights and hitting the door, I decided to check on the things that needed doing. I let my mother's dog out, fed her, and played with her. The poor thing is in a state of shock. She's never gone this long without her mama. I watered the cactuses in the kitchen windowsill and the ivy in the hall. I picked five grapefruit off the tree outside my parents' bedroom door, and walked back to the barn to feed and pet the horses. Then I wandered the hallways, noting the rooms in various states of disarray, and debated whether or not I should clean up.
In the end, I decided that I'd be better off coming home to my own house and doing some chores. My brother can pick up his own shit.
I've left the nest, but I don't feel like I've flown very far. I've traveled a lot, lived half a dozen other places, but I ended up less than three miles from where I began. It's strange to think of how far away I thought I'd be just a few years ago. But, perhaps even stranger, I feel like right now I'm exactly where I belong.