To the one I called home
The day you pulled out of the driveway leaving a cloud of dust behind you, you didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t look back, like you never even knew me. And there I was. Alone, finally. But lost. It was my time now to say goodbye to all of the parts of the land and the house that I loved so much, where I felt safe, comfortable, and blessed. Home.
Once the dust settled, I walked down the driveway. The driveway that I had run up and driven down hundreds of times. The driveway that changed shape with each season. Where I rode my ATV, shoveled gravel, and ran between swarms of bees. Where I walked and prayed, and talked to God and asked for guidance. Where my tears fell uninhibited. Where I discovered the songs that remind me of you. I walked down the driveway knowing that it would be the last time.
As I walked I listened to the forest, to the birds and the trees and the wind and the bees. I heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath my rubber boots. I soaked up every second and I cried, and I walked, and I cried again. The memories of days passed rushed through my head. The housewarming party, your infectious smile, your ugly sweater, your arrogance.
I tried to record the sounds and surroundings. I captured the trails we walked and the paths we made. Every inch of it became a different bittersweet memory. I never watched the video. It’s too heartbreaking.
I stopped at the mailbox remembering when we put it up. The condescension. The mixing cement. The stupid orange bucket. Your annoyance when a bug flew into my eye. Your help getting it out. The rush of emotions playing like a movie in my mind, in vivid color.
I remember the day we began moving things in. I was meeting you there, car packed to the brim. On the highway I listened to the radio and watched the fall colors light up the trees. Feelings of happiness and hope consumed me.
When I pulled into the driveway, I felt immense gratitude. Every twist and turn, the fallen leaves a red carpet leading me to you. As I drove around the final bend, you appeared past the trees. Your truck and our house and you standing there with your smile in my direction, welcoming me home. That is still one of my happiest memories.
I thought of the future, the plans and possibilities, about growing old together. I promised to never move. I said I would die in that house. Parts of me did. Other parts stayed behind forever.
The feeling of home that I never had, I created with you. That’s what hurts the most, not the loss of the house and the land and the comfort. It’s the loss of you. You were home to me and I to you. Despite our own histories of hurt and abandonment and rejection we found a way to be at home together. But we were two broken people trying to put together pieces that would never quite fit.
I turned and started walking back towards the house, knowing it would never feel the same. Knowing that the rooms would be as empty as me without you. As I went around the final bed the house appeared unchanged, but nothing was welcoming me. Without you there, home was no more.
