In a dream I cross the path to my past. The windows of our home warm with welcoming golden light. I enter the unlocked door and open my mouth to call your name - and remember - I don’t live there anymore.Thanks for reading Joan’s Substack!
My parents moved house when I was fifteen years old.
This was the only home that I had known until then.
One fine day, instead of walking to my new home, my heart took me to the home where I had learned to walk, to speak, to make peanut butter cookies with my friend Angela. Where Angela had learned to speak English from me. Where the memories of ring around the Rosie, hide and seek, Pom Pom pull-away still echoed.
Mrs Davis came to the front door and invited me in.
I declined. We chatted for a bit.
She was kind
My mom told me not to bother her again. ‘This is our home now ‘
Sixty-five years later I have long ago moved hundreds of miles away.
And each time I am back to visit, I have al least driven by.
and visited with Mrs Davis. Brought my nieces there one time and had a visit and tour inside with Mrs Davis’ grown daughter.
Discussed the peculiarities of Dad’s construction style.
‘Did you know that you can go from the back bedroom to the middle bedroom through the closet?, she asked.
‘Fun eh?’ I replied
Why is the bathroom door so short?
(It was re-used from the chicken coop that used to sit on the concrete pad on the back corner of the lot.)
Change is tough. We cherish the people we love and have lost too. But time quenches the thirst for what is lost and memories bring cherished times to dear memories
My parents moved house when I was fifteen years old.
This was the only home that I had known until then.
One fine day, instead of walking to my new home, my heart took me to the home where I had learned to walk, to speak, to make peanut butter cookies with my friend Angela. Where Angela had learned to speak English from me. Where the memories of ring around the Rosie, hide and seek, Pom Pom pull-away still echoed.
Mrs Davis came to the front door and invited me in.
I declined. We chatted for a bit.
She was kind
My mom told me not to bother her again. ‘This is our home now ‘
Sixty-five years later I have long ago moved hundreds of miles away.
And each time I am back to visit, I have al least driven by.
and visited with Mrs Davis. Brought my nieces there one time and had a visit and tour inside with Mrs Davis’ grown daughter.
Discussed the peculiarities of Dad’s construction style.
‘Did you know that you can go from the back bedroom to the middle bedroom through the closet?, she asked.
‘Fun eh?’ I replied
Why is the bathroom door so short?
(It was re-used from the chicken coop that used to sit on the concrete pad on the back corner of the lot.)
Change is tough. We cherish the people we love and have lost too. But time quenches the thirst for what is lost and memories bring cherished times to dear memories
Beautiful- I enjoyed your memories. Thanks.
Oh how I wish that I could ease your pain, but I cannot.
I pray that time heals all..