There Is No Place Like Home

I must confess complete agreement with the familiar adage, “There is no place like home.” Home is, of course, much more than a structure or mere lodging. At its best, “home” should be a retreat from the world and a place that both nurtures us and fosters our aspirations. It should provide a support system that allows us to both rest and grow as needed. Home should be the place where we can remove the mask that we wear to the rest of the world and be our most authentic self.

Our home, somewhat shaken by the addition of our adult son, has gone through some times of conflict that have ultimately led to growth for all three of us--my husband, my son, and myself. The adjustment of living together again after so many years apart have led to periods of misunderstanding and frustration. But what began as a necessity has eventually become, to my amazement, a blessing.

There is the advantage to me of having my son’s advice regarding the type of computer that might be best when I decided to acquire a laptop. He has, as an extension of his computer knowledge, transferred all of my contacts to my I-phone, making my life so much more manageable. He was also able to quickly advise me that having my own printer was worth the time we had spent attempting to access a printer that is incompatible with my new laptop.

There is also an even greater gift in the support my son has provided to his nephew, my grandson, whose parents are in the midst of a divorce. Uncle Matt is yet another man in my six-year-old grandson’s life, other than Daddy and Grandpa. Uncle Matt is the man who has the time and energy to play “Shirts Off Ping Pong,” a lively game played, yes, you guessed it, without shirts for those “manly” men—Uncle Matt and my grandson who participate in the game.

So aside from the much-appreciated technical and family support that we have come to enjoy over the past two years, I was surprised to see another reward this morning. After having reached the conclusion that my son had little regard for his parent’s daily lives, and was merely tolerating us until he could afford to move out, he surprised me with a small but important gesture that I saw as a hopeful sign of his maturity and caring.

As I was backing my car out of the garage this morning to attend a class, my son motioned to me to stop, and brought me my cellphone that I’d unintentionally left on the charger. In my mind, a mere “Thank you” was insufficient for Matt’s attention to my oversight and taking action to assure that I had my cell-phone (my “life-line” really) on a particularly hectic day that included driving thirty miles north to attend class, eventually picking up my grandchildren, and then returning home. The cell phone represented my communication line with my grandchildren’s father and the means to call for assistance if I had had car trouble. Just about the time I’d given up on his caring about me, Matt reached out and did something thoughtful for me.

Perhaps this time together hasn’t been a waste at all if I can gain a few memories such as this.