There Is No Place Like Home

My Parents 1943

 Any of my readers (followers of this blog) that have are had a nice if not great relationship with either or both parents will understand where I am coming from with this post.

The main thought in seating down to write this post was to address my wonderful relationship with both my parents and the memories that are still alive and well in my mind.  I’ve heard people say: of the things I had and lost I miss my mind the most.  Well that is not presently a problem here, and I hope it stays that way for a long time.

At present I am in the middle of writing a book based on my life as seen through my mind’s eye.  Initially I was talked into this project by one of my sons, and I took on the project approximately 17 months ago.  I usually write after I retire for the day (not consistently but often), and only a page or two at a time, at present I have around 120 pages single space and 11 font.  Since I am proceeding chronologically, I am only around age 16 in my life’s progress.  Unless I split the book I could end up with a 400 page book. 

The only reason I bring up the book is because I am finding out from what little information I am sharing with my children, that they are enjoying learning about my youth and their grandparents (my parents) life story, and keep commenting that there is more to me than they thought they knew.  If you enjoy writing and have memories you want to share, everyone should try even if you publish it to and for the family as a journal.

As loving as my parents were to each other the day came when they chose to go their separate ways, and eventually divorced within two years of the separation.  As a child at that time I was taken totally by surprise, you might say that I was sucker punched.  I guess it crossed my mind that they somehow didn’t love me.  I was, however, way off base with that thought.  My parents individually proved to me through their lifetime that they loved me as much as a child and later a person could be loved.

I am going to include an excerpt from my book right about here because it captures perfectly what went through my mind.  If this post gets a good reading I will follow up with part 2, otherwise I won’t take up your time.

I can close my eyes and still see it with my mind's eye, like it's happening right now. My mother and father were standing so close to each other, not much more than a foot separating them. I saw them stand this close many times before and always end with a kiss and embrace, but not this time. I expected one or the other to admit that the decision to separate was not what either one wanted. Even as I sat in the bus next to the window watching as my father's outline shrank in the distance, I expected my mother to tell the bus driver to stop so we could get off. Later when the bus would make rest stops, I would look everywhere hoping that my father might have driven ahead of the bus to take us back home. How could I possibly know or understand that seven years would go by, before I would see my father again.  To be continued maybe.  The best is yet to come…