The Effort of Home: Seeing My Parents Clearly

 Yesterday I took a little trip in time. The home we moved from when I was 16 popped in my head. I have a lot of  photos of me growing up there, I was curious to see what happened to it. 

The photo above is one side of our dining room, I found this online, most likely from the last time it was for sale.

The doorway leads into the kitchen. Funny thing, it's over 60 years ago and it still looks the same. We had what we called a buffet in the corner to the right of the doorway, to the left was what we called a server. My grandmother's chair sat in the corner if front of the shelves,

There is a large window that can't be seen in the photo that my grandma would sit in her rocker and look out of them. Her rocker was a dark green leather. She would sit there most of the day and rock. There was a large oriental rug and a beautiful dining room set. My grandmother came to live with us after my grandfather died. These were all hers, I hope they brought her comfort. She wasn't well, she had been sick since I was about 4 years old, her name was Marjoire, I am named after her. 

The kitchen cupboards were the same, a beautiful wood. Memories flooded in, getting ready to go to school, suppers, coming in and out from playing outside, coming in from ice skating on the pond. Sounds, busy, dishes clanging, life.

The banister at the top of the steps, I was glad to see this picture. I forgot how strong and beautiful the wood was, the hardwood floors of the hallway. 

The pictures had none of us in them, yet I could feel us there... now, it feels like it really was a visit. Something I needed. 

My life, like anyone growing up, was a mixed bag of emotions, a mixed bag of the things that happened. I guess you could say the good, the bad and the ugly. 

I feel the love my parents had that they couldn't show, maybe they didn't even know they had it. They were busy, exhausted, putting everything they had into that house to make it a home. We always had food, clothes, my dad worked hard, came home and worked on the house, the cars, the yard, in the winter, he and my brothers shoveled coal in the beginning until we got oil.

My mom worked hard taking care of the house, the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, grocery shopping. Not to mention dealing with 6 kids, during this time, losing a baby girl full term.

I think seeing this house, which was our home, with none of us in it, I realize more now, at my age, more than ever, my parents' efforts. What was expected, their own expectations.

There was love, they, like so many parents, didn't know how to show it any other way than to put it into a house to make it a home.  

Marge Farrington                   OWRO