Home

It is nothing fancy. A cape cod situated on a street in a neighborhood that is as non-descript as the house. Vinyl sided, a light grey with black shutters...a green front door (matched the interior at one time). There are a few flowers in the front yard, some shrubbery...neglected lately as priorities have changed.

The interior is neatly kept most of the time. At least as neatly as can be with three dogs and a cat that shed like cotton weed in the spring. It isn't a designer showcase. Some decent art on the walls. Updated decor. It has been describe as 'homey' by the teenagers that used to congregate there. A better compliment I couldn't ask for.

Walls, floors, ceilings, windows...those things that make a shelter. But it is my home. It is the place I raised my children. But more than that...it is the place that my parents raised me. I have lived there all but five years of my life. That accounts for 43 years. That accounts for my life.

My home is as much a part of me as is my heart. The plaster that form the walls, encapsulates the days of my youth. The walls speak to me of memories. Memories of those who are no longer part of my life. My mother, father, and two brothers.

I see them all. I see them as I did when I was a young girl, in the good times, in the bad times. I hear the sound of their voices. Singing, laughing, crying, yelling. I can still see them sitting in their places. We all had our places. Michael at the register on the cold winter mornings. Mom on the right side of the sofa, Dad on the left, the dog in the middle of them. Patrick always in his room. And me...curled up against mom. I was a mama's girl.

My home...it became mine some 24 years ago. Mine......children conceived here. A second generation raised here. The same joy. The same struggles. Three children once again fighting the same battles. Full circle.

Home. It is where the heart is. But more than that. It is where the soul is.

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