Lately I found myself depressed for many reasons .. mostly for things that are beyond my control. I saw death in front of me yet again, all the old memories came rushing back. We learn the lessons for a short time and then we fall back into forgetting the things that are important, only for that lesson to hit you not too long after. Watching someone die is one of the hardest things to face.. some expected, some unexpected and we are forced to go through your life with them in review. Some things you regret not doing and some you thank God you did do with them.
I remember growing up in a place I called home.. memories of my dad putting up a Christmas tree in the shape of a triangle on top of our house. Memories of him buying lights every year against my mom’s wishes, he would throw it in the nearby bushes and ask me to go take it out the box and put it together with the other lights so she will not know. It was home to me until they wanted to build a plaza on that same land and we were asked to move. We moved to another place for a couple years until it was time to move to a place my father owned. We were waiting for the renters to move out. Going down there I was afraid, new people, new faces, there were people loitering outside our house all hours of the night.
I remember we had to hang our clothes all over as the place was under renovations. We had to live in dust, cleaning up every single day and most of all not sleeping comfortable in your own room.. We had to endure quite a few things before we can even call that place a home. But looking back now I remembered my Mom making lunch in a very small kitchen, I remember seeing my dad walk home every evening from our small grocery we use to have. I remember that among all the arguments we celebrated so many things. I remember sitting with my family and talking about the times we lived in the both places we came from previously. Each place had its memories.
A house is all it is … it is the people confined to that house that makes it a home. No matter where you are … You can be living in a shack or a mansion.. it is the memories you create that makes the difference.. it is what makes that house a home. I sat with myself recently when my mom passed away and I thank God for one thing.. that I never suffered for anything.. they made decisions that allowed us to have the life we have now.. they made sacrifices for all of us. I never thought about it till now.
Recently I looked on the book shelf of my old home and I saw a set of Encyclopedias that my dad bought us one Christmas.. I remember thinking “Umm where is the bicycle I wanted?” when everyone else was getting a bike we got books. But in the coming years it was those books that helped me with my homework every single night.
We sometimes don’t understand decisions or choices our parents make but they only did the best they could do. Sometimes you just don’t see it as we are all caught up in the desires of the heart. We always get caught up in what we want and what we need. We all have been there – I too found myself there.
We always want to be somewhere else than where we are .. we don’t make the best of what is right in front of us. No matter what house we live in – it is not home. Home is when we close our eyes and we don’t have that life in this shell of a body. We wake up to that beautiful place that we all came from .. So for me it does not matter anymore where I live… what matters is that my real home is waiting for me one day, but for now I am grateful that I have a warm bed and a place I can call my own.