where roots grow

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children.

One is roots. The other is wings.

~Hodding Carter, Jr.

I've been meaning to write this for a while, but I wanted time to be able to sit, concentrate, and think, and well, about the only time that can happen for me is when I am supposed to be asleep. As I tried to close my eyes tonight and rest, I was flooded with thoughts about HOME. My parents just closed on their home that they just sold, where I spent my whole life. (my mom spent her whole life their too, I mean her whole life, can you imagine never moving away from home?) (Instead of moving away from home her parents moved across the field into their parents home... a little confusing, but I hope you follow!) I have always known that where I was raised, was something special, because our family's roots grew so deeply there. I got to grow up in a house my Grandpa built, across from the field from where my Grandma lived, (Grandpa passed away when I was two weeks old) in a quaint little city where my family had been for years and years. We attended a church our family had gone to close to 80+ years (when it closed in 2002), attended schools that grandma, mom, uncles, cousins, second cousins, etc. had spent their school years at also. There was so much history, that you almost didn't know that everyone didn't live just that same way... But, as I grow up, I realize just how unique and special that upbringing was. Now, that Grandma doesn't live there anymore, and mom and dad don't live there anymore, and the church is no longer a church, and most of the family that once was there has all gone their own directions, I just can't help but be bombarded with thoughts of how odd that this place where my roots felt so deeply in the ground feel like they have been ripped out. None the less, I am happy that Grandma is in a safe place, and that mom and dad are closer to us, and closer to her. But, Oh how I wish I would have taken the time when I had it to enjoy this magic place where my roots grew, and my wings grew, and then let me fly. I wish I could smell the summer breeze blow off the river into my room. I wish I could run as fast as my legs would take me across that field to Grandma when I am upset and lost, just to have a talk, or share some salty popcorn, or to play a board game, or watch an episode of "Golden Girls". What I wouldn't give to drive that drive with the top down in my little convertible of days gone by, to have a home cooked dinner in our tiny dining room where there always seemed like enough room, and to relive a million other things I loved about that place..... I realize life goes on, and I am happy it does, it's just so surreal when it happens and you never thought it would. I am so thankful for the memories I have, for the vivid memories I have, and when I feel like going HOME, I know I can always go in my memory. How lucky I feel for living the experience, and for having these roots that grow so deep.

Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson