Thirteen years ago today, I found out that my mom was sick. I was in Australia, still drunk from the amazing wedding/St. Patrick’s day celebrations of the day before. A word of advice. If you get life altering news, try to be sober to get it. It will make it easier on you and on all your friends who are trying to comfort you.
Life has never been the same since then. Everything is different. The main thing that I feel has changed since my mom died is the lack of a home base. I’m still very close with my family, closer even than before, but there is something about your mom. Moms are like the lighthouse, bringing everyone safely home. Peace. Calm. Home.
Yesterday, Will and I were outside and hooked up with our neighbours. We all went to the park and the kids ran around with Asta (yup – dog sitting again!). On the walk home, we met up with more neighbours and chatted for a bit. Then I had to run in because I had a chicken in the oven (you can all stop laughing now). When we opened the door, the smell of roasted chicken hit me and I was overcome with this visceral feeling. I immediately started to cry.
It smelled like my mom’s home. Home base. Sunday dinners. Lugging my laundry into my parent’s house. Comfort food in the oven. Golf on the television. Family coming in one by one. Home. My home that doesn’t exist anymore except in the memories that a roasted chicken can bring.
After I pulled it together, I made the rest of the dinner, turned on some music and ate with my boy. We never had music at our house for Sunday dinners. I think my dad’s head would have exploded at the suggestion. We talked about our weekend, Asta (yes, I assured him that dog’s do have lungs?), and head grooved to some Josh Ritter. In our home. At our table.
And I realized that home bases have to move sometimes. And people who relied on home bases become someone else’s home base. And life moves forward. Differently. Not the way you expected. But pretty amazingly all the same.
Ahh…Sara.
I’ve been feeling the lack of that exact same emotional grounding lately myself. I once read you never truly grow up until your mother dies.
I wish I never had to grow up.
It’s amazing how things shift in ways you hadn’t even noticed until they’re… shifted. You’ve got your own place to go to, to sink into. You’re AT homebase. You ARE the lighthouse. Lovely, you… xox
Sara,
You hit the nail on the head. Mum died in 97 and you are so right when you say something is missing, the anchor, the home base, the one who tells you what is happening with family friends, and what’s happening. Plus she was the one you could always fall back to.. It is such a loss and for me cooking does bring me fond memories and that comfort feeling.
Great article and thanks for sharing. Brought tears to my eyes.. Sending you a big hug!
Oh wow. The smell of roast chicken. I can smell it now and yes – it elicits memories of when I was little. That distinct smell of Sundays growing up.
My dad would go through the carcass and eat the leftover good meat while he watched 60 Minutes and my sisters and I would fight over the wishbone.
It’s funny…as I read this I realized that my home is home base for our families.
My sister and her daughter stay with me when they come from out west.
Birthday celebrations for our (divorced) parents happen at my house.
Sunday dinners happen at our house.
Christmas dinner happens at our house.
When my brother in law died in September – we all congregated at my house…
I never realized it until I read this post.