Going Home for Christmas
What defines home? There's the dictionary definition - where one lives - but there's a more abstract construct as well. Earlier this month my siblings and I, along with our spouses, gathered at my parents' house for an early Christmas dinner.
I've never lived in this house and have made my own home(s) in several places. But coming back to Mom and Dad's place has a sense of coming home, no matter how old I am, nor how established I am in my own life.
"What can I bring to help with the dinner?"
"Oh, nothing. Your father and I have it all under control."
And so they did. While the snow fell outside, we were warm, enjoying turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, roast vegetables, salad, and trifle for dessert.
These two. How I love them. How glad I am to go to their house. It's still home. There's a sense of letting go of care and basking in their love. Home is a place of acceptance. Of being known and loved.
My mother sets a beautiful table. She made the quilted tablerunner as well. Each Wednesday my parents volunteer: my mother makes quilts for the MCC, and my father works in the thrift store warehouse.
And here we are: my parents, me, and my two siblings. At home.