What Makes a Home?

Apparently 2022 is the year of the tiger, but for my family and me, it'd probably more appropriately named the year of the house. After losing my dad this summer, my sisters and I have begun the slow, overwhelming process of cleaning out my parents' house of almost 40 years. With families that are growing (by four furry legs or two little legs), all three of us are in need of more space and are also anticipating moving this year. All this has led to a lot of reflection on what makes a home.

When my sisters and I began discussing if any of the three of us would want to buy our parents' house, my sister said, "It hasn't felt like home since mom died [4 years ago], so I don't need it." As we're going through the abundant things acquired throughout our lifetimes and before, I find it increasingly easier to part from physical things. The random shirts, notes, movies, etc., are meaningful solely because they remind us of the intangible; they trigger memories with our loved ones. And that's beautiful.

However, we don't need all the stuff. Our world is inundated with stuff. We buy when we're happy, when we're sad, and everything in between, pouring so much of our resources into falsely coping and keeping up with the latest. At the end of the day, does any of it actually mean anything?

If it's not the stuff inside the house that makes a home, could it be the structure itself? I love my parents' house. The layout lent itself well to spending time together while also providing space for being alone when we wanted. My mom poured her heart into making our house perfect, from cleaning, designing and renovating, to landscaping. The house overlooks a river and the memories my sisters, friends, and I made playing outside are priceless. But even with all those things still there, what my sister said still stands; without my parents, it doesn't feel like home. Going to this house without the kitchen lights aglow as my mom cooks something delightful and my dad waits at the door with open arms and a big smile is different and empty-feeling, despite all the stuff being still there.

Have you ever been in a forest, a church, a beach, a coffee shop, or some other obscure place, taken a deep breath, and thought, "yep, this is exactly where I'm supposed to be."? Maybe home isn't a structure at all. Maybe it's not a place or a person. Maybe home is what you get when you trust the process and find peace in where you are.

-J