As much as I complain, whine, and pretty much always try to get out of going home (to my parents), there is always something comforting about being there.Yes of course there's the judgement of family. The making fun of me because I'm the youngest and they can. The not listening to me. The.. well... the overwelming feeling of being an outcast in my own family is still present. (If I didn't undeniably look like the rest of my family, I would swear I was adopted or the milkman's daughter)
Beyond all that.. its comforting to be there.
My parents still live in the same house that I grew up in. I lived all my days from birth until I went off to college in that town, and from roughly age 4 until college in that exact house. There are many memories there.
There's the piano that we all learned to play on. Its an old upright circa early 1900's with remarkably good sound still. It was one of the few things to survive the fire we had when I was just a toddler. It still sits where it always has.
Other furniture has come and gone. Decor has come and gone. But the piano, the dining table, and the antique buffet have remained unmoved and untouched.
When I visit, I still sleep in one of the two bedrooms that used to be mine as a child. One I lived in until HS, sharing it with my sister. We slept on twin beds that would bunk if needed. Mostly we had them separated, as .. well.. its easy to annoy someone sleeping in bunked beds.. sometimes because you mean to.. and sometimes unintentionally. :)
The other bedroom is now the fancy guest room, but used to be my room when I was in HS. By the time I reached HS, all my siblings were off in college so I had the room to myself. It still contains my old dresser and the closets still house some of my old HS awards, honors, diploma, and various useless crap I never threw away.
Yet... that stuff is not the comforting things I felt this last visit. I'm sure they all played their part.
What got me this last visit was the fullness of the house. Everyone was home. The house was busting at its seems to hold us all.
I thought I'd need my space. That I'd need time out. That it would be too crowded and I'd have to go out and get some air.
But I didn't. I'm sure had I stayed much longer that I'd have needed some "Me Time", but I didn't for the short (4 day) visit.
Instead I enjoyed having people around. Waking in the morning, not to my alarm clock, but to the sounds of voices laughing and discussing things over breakfast. Going to bed and having someone to say "Good night" to. I actually even slightly enjoyed coordinating with others on when to take a shower.
It was so strange and yet wonderful. So as much as I bitch, I really do miss family... and I really would like one of my own.
It's definitely a nice thing to come home to. I don't notice it as much w/my own big family's home on visits as much as when my own house is empty now, a void I suspect will only get more obvious once my divorce is through. Some of us were just meant to be family-oriented while others weren't, I guess.
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