Home is where the heart is. Where the heart is there is home

My good blogging buddy Jax has returned to the blogging scene after a period of absence.  She wrote a great post about Home etc.   I put up a comment to it but thought I’d steal it back as a post as it got me reflection that I’ve been very lucky in my life for the vast majority of it I’ve had a “home” – that is more than a house I live in but a “home” where I feel safe, it is mine, it is love, it is family, it is warmth…

The current house we live in, and have done for over 20 years, felt right, it felt like home as soon as we moved in on a rainy February day and we sat on the chairs in the wreckage of the removal eating Fish N Chips from the paper as we couldn’t even face finding the plates.

My son was about 18 months at the time, my daughter a little over 3 years away from appearing in the world, I was not even turned 30 thinking about it. We’ve changed about all you could in that house.  We had it re-wired, had all the windows replaced, all the internal doors changed, built a model railway in the loft!, changed the front door, the garage door, the roof on the extension, had the back of the garage rebuilt, the front garden completely relaid with a new drive, ripped the kitchen out, had the heating system completely replaced etc.  The patio door at the back of the dining room they are still the same ones there when we moved in… about the only thing other than the structure we haven’t changed!  But throughout all that – it was and is home, we never changed it cos it didn’t feel right just to make it better, warmer, more useful.

I was born in my parents old house, as were both my sister and brother. We progressively moved out in the late 70s and early 80s. In 1984 that was the house I drove my Mum and my brother from as quick as I could to the hospital but we were too late, Dad was gone. 8 months or so later I’d moved as I got married and there was Mum left in a 3 bed family home all on her own. In a few years it was too much for her and she moved to a smaller bungalow – I was glad she did, the near 20 years she lived on there she was happy, I still have great memories of all our families there with all the kids on a New Year’s Day all crammed into her little bungalow – the kids all jumping on her bed watching a new video of something as the adults tried to quickly eat the food on the table before it collapsed under the weight of it all.  Times gone passed by great ones.

Now I have a very good friend who lives opposite my old family home – the house I was born in. But it is just that now, a house, history to me. It feels odd visiting him there and looking at the old homestead on the opposite side of the street and seeing bits of it change and deteriorate.  There are still things visible that I remember my Dad building there 40 odd years ago.

With our kids older now and leaving the nest I suppose soon we’ll have to think on something new and smaller for us. I hope that has the same “home” feel I’ve been lucky to have twice so far in life I hope any future place will be too.  As long as my heart is there I’m sure it will be.

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About furtheron

Music and guitar obsessive who is a recovering alcoholic to boot
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4 Responses to Home is where the heart is. Where the heart is there is home

  1. Having a home is the most primal of needs, and I don’t just mean a roof over your head, although that, too. My daughters have only known one house their whole lives. On a few occasions, they’ve caught my wife and I kicking around the idea of a move—although never seriously. It sends them into wild hysterics; they love that house so much. And it’s not all that much of a house! Quite modest! See…it’s not the structure.

  2. I think about moving into something smaller now that our son is in college. But we designed and built this house. It’d be hard to live in this town and have the place we so carefully put together so close by. Maybe if we decided to move to another town…

    But until then, my house still feels too much like home to leave it.

    I loved picturing your family at your mother’s bungalow!

  3. sherryd32148 says:

    We moved a lot when I was a child because my parents were always looking for something better, cheaper, bigger…whatever. I never felt safe or warm or cozy. What I’m discovering in my old age is that those feelings had nothing to do with the structure but with the broken people inside.

    I always wanted my kids to grow up in the same house, on the same street and with the same kids and then come home to that house to visit once they’d grown up. What ended up happening was that we moved for my job and they’re now on their 3rd home in there 18-20 some years on the planet. But I was marveling the other night as I looked around my home how blessed I am to have built that home and, more importantly, all the love that lives in it every day.

    You said it best…home is where the heart is because no matter where we are…when we’re together, it’s home.

    Great post. Thanks.

  4. daisyfae says:

    Home. Absolutely more than shelter. Like you, i consider myself fortunate to have had ‘homes’ for most of my life – with the university years being somewhat transitional… My mother still owns the home i grew up in – and it’s been under renovation for the past 4 years (planned as 6 months) to make it her home again. i have my memories of it, but no strong attachment to it…

    sold the family home of 20 years when i became single and ’empty nested’. new home is a condominium that is purely mine. but it feels most like ‘home’ on those increasingly rare moments when both of my children are here… that’s what ‘home’ really is….

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