I popped into my mom's today to help her with a few things. Whenever I open the door to her little apartment I am filled with a sense of being home. Though she has condensed her 60 plus years of married life into a small apartment in a retirement center, it is still my parents' home. Familiarity is all around. Furniture, family heirlooms, familiar pictures I've seen all my life, a particular scent ... it's all there to instill peace into me, even after all these years of living away from home. Walking into her house is like a huge batch of comfort food.
And of course there is my mother's soft voice. She's always there, ready with advice (and I still go to her for some). Though our roles are switching a bit these days, she still mothers me. I often hear, "Be careful."
I don't take for granted still having a mother on this earth, and being able to "go home." I thank God for this incredible blessing and the feeling of security it continues to bring.
There's nothing so sweet as being able to phone her and say, "Mom?"
Photo: My childhood home, built by my father.
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One can see why I favor Cape Cod style houses!
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