Home Sweet Home

 

I have been home to you for the past 31 years. ,I can vividly recall the day when you walked through my doors as a nervous, blushing bride carrying your dreams with you.

Slowly and steadily you embraced your new role as a homemaker. Within 15 months, your first son was born, and your second son arrived within two years of the first.  Motherhood was a completely new experience for you, but you did your best. I watched you struggle, and I’ve seen you both broken and whole.  I’ve heard your banter, your whispered secrets, your laughter, and your arguments.

The boys in their teenage years drove you and their father round the bend, and I still shudder when I remember your ‘encounters’ with them during that difficult time. The slamming of my doors almost unscrewed the hinges, and the cold silences turned me into an igloo. I understood that it was a passing phase. Now I watch you deal with the empty nest syndrome; you’re not alone, because I, too, feel a little empty. 

I know you’re proud of me. You love the sights and sounds outside my windows. Never mind the leaks, cracks, and peeling paint, I’m still a refuge, companion, and comfort zone to you.

You wish you could spruce me up a little more, clear out the clutter and junk.  But don’t stress over it. Hearing your laughter, seeing you create memories, and watching you care and share with and for one another is all that I need. 

I do not speak, but I feel everything. The order and disorder both make me feel lived in. If you were to let me go, I would miss you to the moon and back. 

What stories would your home tell if it could speak? 

This post is part of the BlogchatterA2Z 2026 challenge.