on the meaning of home…

Home: A house or place where a person or family lives or where someone was born.- Miriam Webster

But is it that simple?

There’s something about the end of August that triggers my nesting instincts and causes me to reflect on the meaning of “home.” The organizational side of my brain fires up; and I begin clearing, sorting, preparing, and roosting. The wanderlust of summer fades, and I am drawn home in all of its connotations. August has me feeling nostalgic, introspective, and, truthfully, a bit anxious. The hot, lazy days blend together, crickets sound more intense, crazy humidity induces sleepy afternoons and all of those BBQ’s with friends and late night trips for ice cream are starting to show in places I wish they didn’t. Spending hours reading, napping and floating in my inflatable backyard pool, never once feeling guilty for the lack of energy or inspiration, I experience a certain sense of detachment and even loss. I think the desire to hunker down goes back to being a kid realizing sometime around August 25th, that the last day of school, mind blowing sense of freedom actually had an expiration date.

“Home, Sweet, Home”-John Howard Payne

Early summer when I was a kid was devoid of all obligation and schedule. For about seven weeks, I luxuriated in the giddiness of doing absolutely nothing except biking ALL OVER town, playing in the creek that ran through most of the neighbors’ yards, finding food wherever we could and finally coming in for dinner only to go back out again until the mosquitoes won the battle, all while my mom had pretty much no idea where we were. We spent time at my grandmother’s beach house at the Jersey shore, where my days consisted of hours reading, swimming and going to the boardwalk with friends. Until the evil advent of the high school summer job, life in early summer was a simple joy; incomparable to anything I’ve experienced as an adult.

As July rolled into August, we embarked on our much anticipated and enjoyed family vacation, but as that week dwindled down, the knowledge that in a few short days, an alarm clock would be going off and Dawn, my BFF, would be at our front door ready to walk the 8,000 miles uphill to school, triggered feelings of anxiety and melancholy. The minute our non air-conditioned car pulled into the driveway after a grueling ten hour ride home from the Outer Banks, I knew the calendar would be filled with school physicals, the much detested dentist visit and the trip to buy back-to-school supplies. But the day I really knew it was over was when I struggled to shove tan, happy, freedom loving toes into unforgiving, hard heeled saddle shoes as, Mom, bandaids in hand, declared “Don’t worry, they will stretch out and before you know it, they will be comfortable.” Time was up.

By the end of August, the home that, through a slamming screen door, I’d flown from every day, became my home, sweet, home. The anticipation of the first day of school and settling back into the busy routines of the school year, induced a curious mix of emotions. While I loved the freedom of unscripted days, I also thrived in routine, enjoyed my after school activities, and looked forward to seeing friends I hadn’t seen for the better part of nine weeks. But, what if 8th grade was exactly as hard as our neighbor Lisa said it was? Could Mr. Zambor really be as mean and unfair as Jeff described? And what if the social order shifts or I don’t make the cheerleading squad? Will Mike still like me once we get back into school? Suddenly, I wanted the screen door to slam in the opposite direction, keeping me safe and at home. By the end of August, being home felt like less of place I needed to escape and more like a place I wanted to be. “Home, sweet, home.”

“Who says you can’t go home?”-Jon Bon Jovi

Damn that Jon Bon Jovi and damn late August, 2006, when hearing his song, “Who Says You Can’t Go Home” became inescapable; I heard it at least three times a day. Did he not understand that mothers everywhere were sending their babies to college for the first time? Each time I heard the chorus, it was if I were watching “Sophie’s Choice,” all over again, an inexplicable decision I made years ago that I have yet to be able to wipe from my psyche.

But there I was, August, 2006, pulling into the Walmart parking lot to pick up a few last minute items my son, Zach, needed in order to complete his “Dorm Essentials” check list, when I was incapacitated by the opening chords. Managing to make my way to an isolated area of the parking lot while praying no one looked in my direction, wretched, I cursed Jon Bon Jovi. Flipping off the radio, gathering myself, and finally able to stifle the hyperventilation induced hiccups I was experiencing, I blew a copious amount of snot into Wendy’s napkins. (my reward to myself for making this trip without Zach) Eyes burning and still oozing a few final tears, I maneuvered into a closer spot, and ventured into the store to pick up the necessary bed risers that had been out of stock. Making my way to customer service, I realized the damn song was playing on the Walmart sound system. Through gestures and mime, I was somehow able to communicate with the saleswoman who, miraculously, handed me the bag with the bed risers. Evacuating Walmart as if a fire was raging, I barely made it back to my car. Who writes words like these especially in late August?

I went as far as I could
I tried to find a new face
There isn't one of these lines that I would erase
I lived a million miles of memories on that road
With every step I take, I know that I'm not alone
You take the home from the boy
But not the boy from his home
These are my streets, the only life I've ever known
Who says you can't go home?”

What an exceptionally strong punch to the gut.

Eleven years later, that song still gets to me, especially in August when Walmart is loaded with dorm essentials and I see moms checking off items as they toss them into overflowing carts. I ache for them remembering those feelings of abandonment and loss. But I also now know that Jon Bon Jovi got it right; you absolutely can go home, and to all moms out there this week, I promise, they will be back… with laundry; lots of disgusting laundry.

And then they leave again. Zach leaving home for college back in 2006 changed what “home” meant to me. Since that time, our family has moved from the home in which all my kids grew up, and all of my kids have moved several times themselves as their lives evolved. Those first post-college apartments that I’m loathe to even call apartments as they looked more like jail cells and smelled like urine, natural gas leaks and weed, have turned into places that I am happy to visit and even willing to spend a night. Each move served its purpose and each new place became “home.” While I’ve loved the places in which I’ve created homes, when it came time to leave, I felt more excited than sad; very much like I felt sending each of my kids off to college. There is a mixture of sadness for the loss of the time gone by, and for the change. But, there is also excitement for what was to come next for them and for me. “Home,” is not tethered to place. The intangibles that evoke the warmth and the security always came with me. It turns out that home is location independent. We leave and we come back. Home evolves and we can always come home. “Who says you can’t go home?” Not me.

“There’s no place like home-” L. Frank Baum

For the last 18 months, there’s literally been no place like home, as there’s been no place BUT home. Directed to shelter in place, our homes came to define our worlds; becoming the object of our appreciation and comfort, and the focus of our loathing and obsession. As our lives became insular, we became bees buzzing in our hives, emptying closets and attics, baking bread, tending gardens and stripping furniture. We’ve become so obsessive about our homes, it’s simpler to mine diamonds than to find refrigerators, Intex Easy Set pools, or air fryers. Our new workplace, work out place, local school, favorite restaurant and friendliest bar contains our own beds, toilets, favorite DVD’s and family heirlooms. In 2020, “there’s no place like home” became, “please God, let me get out of my house.” Renting other people’s houses, so that instead of sleeping in our own beds, or showering in our own bathrooms, we might wake up and clean up elsewhere became bucket list worthy. Especially if you could bring the dog.

Finally, as Covid numbers fell and vaccination numbers rose, we decided to take the infamous Conway family summer vacation. Fully vaccinated and ready to get away from HOME, we rallied the troops and headed to St. John, in the US Virgin Islands. Armed with negative Covid tests, folders proving such results, carseats, strollers, carry-ons, checked bags, backpacks and diaper bags, we descended upon JFK airport. Masks on, hand sanitizer at the ready we headed out. The trip was everything we had hoped it could be. We all had a wonderful time and stayed for eight perfect nights. Around night six, Cora, my three year old granddaughter came and asked, “Nana, can we go home now, I love my little, cozy bed.” She reveled in every minute of this trip; frolicking so long every day in the ocean that her chin was chapped and raw from the salt water. She was doted on by aunts and uncles, was allowed to eat all of the fun food and laughed for most of every minute of every day, and yet, for as much fun and beauty as she was experiencing, she was ready to get back to what “home” meant to her; her bed, her friends at school, and her routine. There truly is no place like home. Even in Covid.

“Home is where the heart is”-Pliny the Elder

For several years, we have rented a particular vacation home and have subsequently become friendly with the owners, Sue and Larry. We keep in touch through email etc., and visited with them the last time we were there. Recently, Sue lost her husband, Larry, and despite my attempts to reach out, I didn’t hear from her for months. Finally, several weeks ago, she responded and what she said truly resonated with me. I could tell by her words how unmoored she felt by the loss; helpless, believing she didn’t have the tools to recover. She spoke of how wonderful her kids had been and how they had kept her close; never leaving her alone for more than a day or two, but she also noted how, while helpful, their love and their companionship could not fill the void she felt in her life. She recognized that they all have their own spouses, and their own lives to live. Her life and everything in it was tied to her husband; their love and the life they created together was home to her. His death destroyed her sense of safety, took away their future plans and left her alone to move forward. Her partner throughout her life, the one person who held her deepest secrets, and best understood her heart was gone. The building where they slept wasn’t home. The country they resided in wasn’t home and the vacation house they built together wasn’t home. She was literally lost; homeless. As she wrote, “the more profound the love, the more profound the loss.” I reflected on her note for a long time and was somewhat surprised by how strongly her words and tone effected me, because without realizing it, I understood her completely.

This July 26th, Mike and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. I’ve know him since I was eighteen years old. Sue’s words combined with a milestone anniversary made it clear to me that it is in my relationship with Mike that I find the meaning of home. Like Sue, I have my children who love me and will care for me and console me, but if I lose Mike, they can’t replace my home. They have lives of their own, and that realization hit….home!

Home is most definitely where the heart is.

Whether it’s defined by lyrics from some song, made possible with a pair of ruby slippers, is your safe place or found in your relationships, home has no comparison. It means different things to each of us at different times in our lives and many have attempted to discover its true meaning:

“The ache of home lives in us all.” -Maya Angelou.

“Home is the nicest word there is.”-Laura Ingalls Wilder.

“Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s where you find light when all grows dark.”-Pierce Brown.

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”-James Baldwin.

“I believe when we hold loved ones close, we take home with us wherever we go.”-Leslie Conway

It’s the end of August, and I’m thinking about home. What does home mean to you?