It's Happening Again

It's happening again. That squeezy feeling in my throat and the tendency to stand quietly a few steps further from life than normal. 

It's happening again, the flashes of memory from times past and far away.

It's happening again, the moments of confusion when writing the date (month/day/year or day/month/year?), and the fuzziness when someone talks about "spring" (when is spring again?).

It's happening again, feeling annoyed at my son who throws his knowledge of "America" around like a red cape in front of a bull. What does he mean when he says the air smells so American? What does that even mean?

Except I do know what he means. He walked outside and the air was crackling. The day was alluring to him with promise and adventure. To him that is America, and he is right.

I don't know if I love my country or if I hate my country, but I miss it.

It is such a miserable feeling to love the South so, so much, but to not feel that it would love my children the way I want them to be loved. Maybe I am a coward for leaving and not being the change. Maybe I am brave to call out what I saw and walk away.

I miss green fields. I miss the explosion of spring that makes you think the earth is on drugs and nothing could be greener than it is already. Even the light turns green in the tree tunnels going to my parent's house in the woods. 

I miss the houses. I miss wooden siding and wide front porches with hanging ferns and decks where you sit with friends and drink ice tea. 

I miss crepe myrtles electric pink on a hot summer's day, the bark smooth and cool under hand.  I miss hostas in the shade, and white picket fences holding back spills of cone flower, and black eyed susans. 

I miss the richness and ambience of the great estates, despite the injustices that occured in them. I can't help but love my hometown, my roots, my nest.

I miss the creative and eclectic self that existed there that I can't seem to find, despite having unpacked each box from the shipping container years ago. 

It is happening again. I am missing home.

 

Comments

[Marianna]

I only went to your parents' house in the country once (going-away party), but immediately loved it and felt right at home! Whenever you write about it, I am taken back to happy memories of playing with the kids outside and just enjoying the beautiful property. Thank you and them for sharing it with me!

[quietstream]

"Maybe I am a coward..., maybe I am brave..." Oh the great questions of life and the mysteries of our own quest for self-knowledge and wisdom! Today, with the anniversary of Grandaddy's sudden departure the day following tomorrow, and the tbd status of our beloved homestead in T, I am having a similar vague longing, and your words summon faded memories of the years in Michigan and Tennessee when you were young, with my own family so far away.

How very, very blessed we are to have so much to miss. May the missing allow you some joy over the many sweet treasures in your treasure box, and greater strength to keep on creating new memories for your children of wonderful Aussie things to be missed and cherished someday.

PS WE MISS YOU too.