Home is Where the Heart Is

Slowly but surely, room-by-room, I sit in each one, waiting for memories to pop up, so I can see her again.  Turning the back bedroom into her office for Healing Touch, when she was certified in 2010 was exciting.  Finding the right wall decorations, building the desk and Murphy bed, and finally the clients came.  That was an accomplishment, years in the making for her.  The other spare bedroom she decorated as her bedroom, where her clothes were put away and books of interest found shelf space.  The daybed is covered (COVERED!) with pillows that were painstakingly selected for just the right reason and in turn placed in just the right spot, many of which I could never quite get back in the right place when we made it after a guest had stayed with us.  Those two rooms were normally ready for guests at a moments notice.  But as she became less and less able to care for them and her attention turned inward, piles started to form and the neatly appointed details began to be overlooked.

The third bedroom, upstairs, is our bedroom.  She had control of the other two, but this one she had to share.  And because of that, as hard as she tried, it was not as kept as the others.  This was due mainly of course, to my involvement in the space.  I am a hanger, not a put-a-wayer.  My daily jeans would hang on the back of the door, hoodies would hang on the bifolds to the closet, and stuff would accumulate on my nightstand.  She was very tolerant, until guests were on their way.  Tooga’s bed is half in, half out of the closet, and Tucks lies at the foot of the bed.  With the size of a master bedroom from the 60’s, walk-ins, sitting area, and an “ensuite” (whatever happened to “master” bath) bathroom are not part of the design scheme for our bedroom.  But we did squeeze out an “en-smallish-suite-ette” where we managed to fit our shower, toilet (minus the bidet) and even a double sink vanity, where we occasionally bumped elbows.  But it worked for us.

I’m sure if we had a fourth bedroom, it would have been mine (Ha!).  I was happy to share one, as long as I could hang stuff until guests would ruin it for me.  The remodeling of the upstairs, from gutting bathrooms to squeezing out towel and sheet storage, was always a joint effort.  She would come up with the ideas and I would make them happen, although she would be right there with me tearing apart or rebuilding.

The kitchen was gutted and redesigned.  Sink relocated, desk built in, and more storage added.  But all the decorations on top of the cabinets were placed and replaced until all found a home that jived with its neighbor.  Each has a meaning and a story.  One of which is a “Mother’s Day” gift.  Obviously we never had children, but she was the mother to our pets and hundreds of students, so I saw it fit to celebrate her on Mother’s Day as well.

The living room was a challenging space, but she worked out the best arrangement and made it comfy and cozy, surrounded by family photos and lots of glass allowing a view to the backyard.  We gradually replaced the cheaper furniture with more comfortable, sturdy pieces.  And when the dog hair isn’t covering it, the couch is pretty comfy to support a nap.

The TV room was our biggest accomplishment, in terms of physical remodeling.  I won’t even try to describe it.  But it now houses many of our travel memories in pictures or items brought back from places we connected with.

I can’t be in any of these rooms without seeing her influence, a memory, or her.  In 1990, we took someone else’s house and over the last 23 years, transformed it into our home. I’ve left tears in every room over the last 3 days and that won’t end anytime soon.

Since her passing, I’ve been asked if I’ll stay here.  There is not a lot I haven’t thought about, as an infinite number of thoughts seem to bounce around in my head each day.  But this is home.  I’m comforted here by it, I enjoy its uniqueness, and I know what has broken and what needs repair (all to well).  So this will remain home until further notice.

I seem to have left out the newest addition to our address.  The tree house.  Miki made reference a couple of times, that if she knew it was going to end this way, she would have never asked for a tree house.  I tried to nip that thought in the bud, by sharing with her that it gave me a distraction I desperately needed.  It also gave her attention somewhere to be, besides where it had been for months.  It has been called the Love Shack, the Tree House, and do you remember the “raised shed?”  My stepbrother, Chuck, lives in NYC and knows Miki from the beginnings of our relationship.  The physical distance between us has been hard, as this part of our journey unfolded before him in emails and blog postings.  I spoke with him yesterday and he said as soon as the tree house was underway, he wanted to participate in some way from his NYC apartment.  He grabbed a piece of wood and went to work.  He planned that it would arrive here last week for Miki to see, but for reasons unknown at the post office, I received that piece of wood yesterday in the mail.  I unwrapped it with anticipation and as soon as the wrapping paper was clear and I could read it, tears of laughter, joy, and sadness began.  And although Miki didn’t see it while she was here, she sees it now and is laughing with joy as well.  The card that accompanied it began with…

Question:  What did the giant football stadium say to the tiny football stadium?

Answer:  Hut!

And with that, Chuck created a new nickname that will adorn our smaller version of a tree house compared to some of the more elaborate ones seen on TV and the Internet.  She would have loved the name along with its corny roots, in fact I’ll bet she loves the name.  So now Chuck joins the construction crew of willing and semi-willing participants and emotional and mental supporters to the cause.

The home is where the heart is and a lot of Miki’s heart went into this one, for sure.  One day it will pass into another’s hands and some of that heart will remain, while the rest will go with me to establish a new one.

My Zen from Home:  After all these years of Miki wanting me to watch less TV, it’s taken this journey to make it happen.  I spent the last 6 months watching her instead and now I’m trying to playback the last 32 years I’ve TiVoed.  I wonder what she would think of that.