On the places we've called home, and how we can always revisit them. "This isn't a structure "out there" on a dirt road in southern Ontario; this is the house in me." —James K. A. Smith, How To Inhabit Time. Maybe it’s because these past weeks have been spent clearing my parents’ house that all things home and rootedness have been uppermost in my mind.
Oh so beautiful and so true. It's the small things, as you say that matter so truly and bring simultaneously the most joy and pain. I loved reading this and can really relate as you know. Whilst sorting my Dad's clothes, it was the pack of half eaten Extra Strong mints we found in his best blazer. He always used to crunch in the church and pass them around during the service! It was as though they were there waiting for him once more. Thank you as always for your beautiful, healing words xx
Oh Jenni, you’ve stirred up much within me. Much. Sorrow, regret, anger, happiness, and unsolved feelings. I’m glad you did this for me. I needed to read this. “It’s going to be ok.” Your quotes are perfect, and I have saved them. I’m working on a part of my memoir about my childhood home. I’m calling that part “Excavation.” Excavating has been hard, but necessary work for me. Then, yesterday, I found a piece written by my father about his childhood home, one I never visited because they moved from it when he was about ten. He had even drawn a map of the neighborhood as he describe what was where, and who lived in each house. That neighborhood is not far from me, but it has been mostly repurposed as a highway, so I can’t go over and see what it was like, but I can read his memory of it. I think it is best to remember how it was for us when we inhabited those spaces that were so dear to us because time does change them.
I wondering about the pen. That really touched me! Why didn’t he take it with him? What did you do with it? I so hope you kept it.
Sending love and thanking you for this lovely post. Truly it has touched me deeply and actually helped to heal some hurt that I have felt about the dispersement of all that was the home in which my mother lived that still contained memories of so much of my life. Hugs.
Lovely words.
It's going to be okay. Beautifully written as usual, Jen 💖
Oh so beautiful and so true. It's the small things, as you say that matter so truly and bring simultaneously the most joy and pain. I loved reading this and can really relate as you know. Whilst sorting my Dad's clothes, it was the pack of half eaten Extra Strong mints we found in his best blazer. He always used to crunch in the church and pass them around during the service! It was as though they were there waiting for him once more. Thank you as always for your beautiful, healing words xx
So beautiful ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Oh Jenni, you’ve stirred up much within me. Much. Sorrow, regret, anger, happiness, and unsolved feelings. I’m glad you did this for me. I needed to read this. “It’s going to be ok.” Your quotes are perfect, and I have saved them. I’m working on a part of my memoir about my childhood home. I’m calling that part “Excavation.” Excavating has been hard, but necessary work for me. Then, yesterday, I found a piece written by my father about his childhood home, one I never visited because they moved from it when he was about ten. He had even drawn a map of the neighborhood as he describe what was where, and who lived in each house. That neighborhood is not far from me, but it has been mostly repurposed as a highway, so I can’t go over and see what it was like, but I can read his memory of it. I think it is best to remember how it was for us when we inhabited those spaces that were so dear to us because time does change them.
I wondering about the pen. That really touched me! Why didn’t he take it with him? What did you do with it? I so hope you kept it.
Sending love and thanking you for this lovely post. Truly it has touched me deeply and actually helped to heal some hurt that I have felt about the dispersement of all that was the home in which my mother lived that still contained memories of so much of my life. Hugs.