Our first Halloween of the new life.

There was much laughing, and screaming, and loading up on candy. There were houses full of decorations, a certain 4 year old full of candy, and a street full of friends helping us navigate around. Being a single mom with 3 kids is hard, but I had an entire army around us last night helping to keep them in check while I tried to get the stroller through bumps and curbs.

My life is good.

It will only get better.

photo credit: tipiro

Home.

When I was little home was my grandma’s house on the edge of town. We had a garden that spread over most of the property, and geese, and fruit trees, and places to explore. That was home.

When I was older, I had to go live with my mother. Home changed every few months, but in a way it stayed the same. No matter the actual house, I could count on it being a tiny, falling down rental with too many cracks in the walls and bugs crawling in. We didn’t even unpack, just kept our things in boxes for the next hasty retreat when that place got to be too much. It was filth and trash, but it familiar.

With Michael, home was a small house on a quiet street. It was old, and drafty, but it was safe. He was always there when I woke up, which made it home. After we moved, and moved, and moved again, I was OK with home not being a permanent structure. Being next to him was enough to make it home.

Now, home is a tiny cabin in the middle of shade trees. My neighbors roll through in RVs, taking home with them as they go. It’s tiny, and cramped, and I don’t have the courage to even unpack our clothes yet.

I think in some ways I don’t really know what home is. Is it a place, a state of mind, or the people you are with? If home is where the heart is, what if I’ve lost it forever? Maybe home, like other dreams, is something that not everyone is meant to have.

I don’t have any answers right now. I’m just looking for home.

*Post inspired by Strocel’s In Search of Home post.

photo credit: kevindooley

It’s a simple sentence, only three words, yet it holds a mountain of weight. Oddly, the weight does not come from what the words mean to me, but what they should mean as dictated by others.

My mother and I were not close. We were two strangers who occasionally were forced to cohabitate. She could be brutal, then caring, then neglectful, then vicious in the course of one day. Then disappear again for several months. And she had a knack of making everything my fault, always. I spent as much time as possible away from her.

Then she died.

When I say the words “my mom died” there is no more feeling to them than “it rained today” or “I dropped my sandwich.” Sure, there is a touch of sadness, because, you know, a person died and left things undone. But that person may as well have been someone I had never met before. There is no emotional attachment, no deep sorrow. When the doctor called I said “OK” and jotted down the number to make arrangements. Then went back to playing Legos with the boys.

But many people seem to think I should be sobbing hysterically, and that I may be a monster for not doing so. An offhand dark joke on Twitter netted me 5 emails about my lack of human emotions and potentially sociopath tendencies. And I don’t even use Twitter that much anymore.

Even the non-haters have sent me their condolences and asked if I am alright, if I need a hug, if I’m coping well. From in here it all seems very strange. I know they mean well, but how can I explain that I cried more when my cat died without looking like a total inhumane beast? Is there a support group for people who are inconvenienced by all this funeral arranging business but not actually saddened by the death part? Is there a self-help book for dealing with the look of horror when you explain why this week is not going to work scheduling wise as “these things happen” rather than bursting into tears?

And can I learn to just say “personal family issues” instead of “well, my mom died and… ,” because that self-edit feature would be great.

So today, and probably the rest of the week, I’ll be trying to sort all this funeral stuff out. And I’ll be surrounded by people who expect me to be emotional and sad. So no condolences necessary, I’ve already got more than my share.