H is for, well so many things

I could write about so many things for H. 

Happiness, which is such a lovely feeling.

Heart, which would have to include Zeb and Damie as they hold mine.

Homeless, as this is becoming an epidemic of great proportions in the U.S. as well as Canada.  Damie and I just watch a documentary on OWN regarding a Tent City in Nashville Tennessee.  It is shocking how badly people treat other's at the end of their rope.  They don't want to help them, but they sure don't want them around reminding them that they don't want to help them.  So sad really.

I could write about all these things but I am not.  I am going to write about home, and what that means to me.

You have heard the saying, home is where the heart is.  I believe that to be true.  Ever since I med Damie and have had Zeb there is not a truer saying.

If I am away from home, I miss them so much and can't wait to get back.  I like being away, as I like having my own things in life, however, I love coming home and sharing with them all the stories of my adventures.  Okay, so going to the grocery store is not an adventure, but I miss them when they are not with me anyways.

I grew up in a home that was made out of Limestone and was big and a little cold. Not literally cold, but figuratively.   The size of the house was cold, and you never really had a feeling of being cozy and safe there.

In 1986 we moved in to a smaller, cozier house.  My parents built this one and made it just the way they wanted it.  I was the only kid left at home at that time, I actually had just graduated from high school that year.  There was just enough room for them and me, and I liked it.

I can't tell you how many times I have moved since moving out of my family home, maybe 15 or 18 different places.  Some of them were nicer than others, but it wasn't until I had a family of my own that I actually realized the saying to be true.

Sometimes I wonder, if these walls could talk what would they have to say? 

At one point in my life I lived in an apartment in a large home.  There were 4 apartments in the house and I had a nice small one on the ground floor.  A couple of year earlier a good friend of mine lived upstairs in this complex, where she shared with a friend of hers.  It was the last place I ever saw her live, as she died while living there.  If felt weird moving in to this house at first.  It kind of made me feel odd in a way.  I wondered many times, what would the walls tell me if they were able to share their stories?

Isn't it funny thinking about the people who have lived where you live now, before.  What must their lives have been like, how different could theirs have been than mine.  I live in a home now that is owned by a man that has owned the house for years.  His wife became very ill in this house and died, leaving him with an empty home.  He moved and has rented it ever since.  I wonder how he feels when he enters the home now?  He and his wife had planned on living here for the rest of their lives, she did.  I wonder if he comes in and feels her all around him, if this brings him good memories or not?  There are times I think about her, if she would be happy with this change or this colour on the wall.  I think of what it must have been like for her to realize that she was not going to make it, and that she was going to leave this house and all that she loved in it forever. 

I can't imagine that feeling, of knowing that you are going and you can't take anything or anyone with you.  You do come into the world alone, and you go out of it alone.  But we are not ever really alone are we.

My father passed away in Feb. and Damie and I were with him when he went.  I don't think he even really knew we were there beside him, but he was not alone.  I think to some degree this knowledge makes me, and the rest of his loved ones feel better just knowing that there was someone in the room with him when he crossed over into the other world.  But did we really help him?  I don't really think so. I believe he had loved ones on the other side doing more to help him than any of us in the living world could ever do to make that transition easier.  I know in my heart that the most important and loved member of my extended family was with him when he came into the world, and I was with him when he went out.  I think she was there for both, helping him push his way in, and then push his way out.  This gives me comfort, and peace believing this.

I create a home that I hope Zeb can look back and feel like he had comfort and security.  I think feeling secure and comfortable as a child makes them feel confident.  I hope that he can look back on these days of his life and remember how much he was loved and cared for.  I hope that his childhood is filled with warmth, and a real sense of home.

Home is where the heart is, even if it is in a tent.  I believe we don't always get to control what happens to us, but we have total control over how we react to it.  I know that those people in the documentary about the tent city had a feeling of warmth and comfort, even when their walls were made of nylon and they zipped up their door at night.  I know they felt a strong sense of community, and that each member of that tent city were vital members of their society.  It was obvious that they took pride in where they lived, how they worked together and how they managed to live day to day.  Who are we to judge this?  We have entered a time in our lives where people are being pushed beyond their limits and instead of taking the easy way out, they do whatever it takes to wake up in the morning and take a breath and put their feet on the ground.  Who are we to judge that?  There are countries all over the world where things like tent cities exist and have since the beginning of time, why should North America be any different?  We want people to stop living off others and do for themselves, but when they are left with nothing more than a tent we criticize them for that choice.  After watching this documentary you realize it is better than lots of the other choices we give them.  We could make them live in government housing, but then they live beside drug users and dealers, criminals and in area's where you couldn't walk the street safely.  In this tent city drugs were not allowed, drinking was to be kept to a minimum and there were men walking around making sure that women could walk around at night and not feel threatened.  I think it was better than what we want them to do. 

Home is such a great word, it brings about warm feelings.  I love my home, no matter where it is, as long as I have my family with me, my heart is there!