table leaf.

October 2023

If you haven't read the blog entry "tables" (see Dec. 2022), go there first. 

Now, think for a second about why, from time to time, we add a leaf to a table. Usually, it's to make room. There's just not enough space. Tons of people show up, and where the heck are we gonna put them? 

Add the leaves. 

And now, consider this blog addition just that. Thought leaves, added to my feelings-table. To make room. To bring us in. To share the stories and the time, to provoke thought. 

Pull up a chair, and fill it, so it's not empty. Sit and listen. Let's share. 

Being at Dad's is surreal. Also, is it Dad's anymore? Nancy's? My dad and stepmom's? I don't know what to call it... it's hers, really, but theirs, ours, I'm not even sure.

Something about this place feels more like home than any other house or space I've occupied in my almost-half-century. I would almost rather be here than anywhere, I'm growing to realize. It's soul-safe here, love has filled this home and is in its bones. In the walls, in the kitchen, the porch, the fireplace... the solace here is palpable, each inhale brings relief and salve to my spirit, my bruised insides, my smashed and broken heart. Nancy says the home chose her, that God plunked her right here in this Tuscan-styled kitchen for a reason... I don't doubt it.

Odd juxtaposition, though: each time I'm here, the intention is to share space and connection with family; mission accomplished at every departure to head back home. I've never been here with my sisters, though, save the visits surrounding Dad's death. How can this place, a place where my sisters and I haven't grown in connection in any way, be such a huge homebase for me? A place that is such comfort, solace, and unity for my soul; yet, the giant elephant of division loomed large in the center of our sister-heart-room the last time we were all in one geographic location. How can a home of togetherness and peace be such a place where tension and discord scream loudly in the silence?