Home and Hearth ... and Memories

I was just thinking about this house ... this home ... and how it feels right here, right now ... with me here, living; and my Mom having been here, deceased.

And you know, it hurts, at one level; at another, as I think I've said before, it's enormously comforting. The memories ... and almost more, the almost physical presence of Mom in a Place that was hers ... is both painful and welcome.

In a way, the walls have memories; the carpet; the chairs ... and even though I'm alone ... "walking with loneliness" as Paula Ripple would say ... I'm not really alone.

I was thinking ... I wonder if this is how it feels ... or something like this ... when a house has been in a family for generations, or if a house has had a long connection to several family members together or one after the other in some way.

This house can't be a home in quite that sense. But in a way it can, too. And in that way this could be yet another wonderful gift of God to me, if I'm allowed to keep this home. How many are given the transgenerational gift of home and hearth that, I suppose, must have been by far the most common and traditional way of experiencing a home.

I don't know. But to me, this once again feels like my heart telling me that I really do want, and really want to want, to keep this home, this house.

That gives me something to work towards; and that's a purpose. Even a Hope.

To some extent. For now.

Fair enough, though, right?

Thank you Momma.

And thank you God.

In Christ's Holy Name,

Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Luke