Home Is Where the Heart Is

My mother informed me a couple of months ago that she was going to have to sell her house. She could no longer afford it and it was unnecessarily large for her purposes. The thought of my mother faced with the harsh reality that something that she loved could no longer be hers sent me into an introspective mode and in all honesty led to a slight bit of depression on my part.

I thought to myself, I bet when my mother was younger, she never dreamed that she would be 60 years old and staring foreclosure in the eye. I bet she never thought that this kind of uncertainty would plague her even into this stage in her life. I bet that she thought that by this stage in her life she would have been happily married, probably living in Hawaii again (for that has always been her dream), and able to relax after a lifetime of hard work. I suppose that she is a testament to the truly unpredictable nature of life and its meandering journey.

She has been a mother for most of her life. The oldest of six kids, and the child of a woman who passed away far too young, made it all but impossible for her to not grow up ever so quickly. Motherhood is something that my mom did exceptionally well, although I didn’t always tell her as much.

We’ve had our rough stages, and in fact I have made her life infinitely harder than it needed to be, but, nevertheless, she succeeded in instilling a sense of belonging and faith in her love for me from the time that I was born until this very day. I always knew that I could do anything, be the most hellacious youth (believe me, I tested the limits on this one) and still be accepted back into her arms without hesitation.

The relationship that I have now with my mother is one of friendship… She’s my mother and always will be, but she is my friend, the person I turn to especially at times like these to ask endless questions about pregnancy and motherhood, questions she never gets sick of answering. Such a strong bond of friendship has opened our lines of communication immensely and some of the things that we talk about now are so painful. I’m beginning to realize that my mom is a human being, one which struggles with fighting some of the very same battles I find myself engaged in.

This latest battle with her house has been exceptionally difficult. I’ve found myself at times not wanting to call her, simply because I can’t stand to hear the hurt in her voice, and the strain that it is taking on her essence. It pains me that I cannot help, there’s simply nothing that I can do. Even with the knowledge that my mom will never be homeless, for she will always have a place to stay, I still find myself fretting about every last detail of her life.

I suppose this latest development of panic incited insomnia is karmically destined to belong to me, since I’m sure that no calendar could fully register the amount of sleepless nights my parents spent wondering if I was OK, or if I was possibly going to come home sometime soon. I find myself wanting to protect her as if she is feeble and unable to do so herself. Such rubbish that is, for she has made it through trial after trial always proving her strength and ability.

I don’t know why the house situation has been such an ordeal for my consciousness… It is not my childhood home and the time that I spent there was largely unhappy because I had to cohabitate with my ex-husband; although, I was also much closer physically and emotionally to my mother during this period of time than I have ever been, and I do miss her presence tremendously.

I’m thankful for the phone call I received two days ago from her to inform me that the house sold and things are looking up… I still find myself wishing that I could stop all of this reality from rearing its ugly head at this point in her life… I feel responsible now, like it’s my turn to protect. I want to give her her reward for being such a wonderful person… I want her to be able to relax finally, it seems that it will never be a possibility.