The Dwelling Place

I’d never had a problem feeling at home—not with dear friends, a supportive church and the close-knit community in upstate New York I’d spent 30 years getting settled in. Yet after my husband and I separated my world turned upside down. Everyone knew me as the wife I no longer was. What now?

“Why don’t you move to Ohio, Mom?” my daughter suggested one day over the phone. “There are some nice little townhouses right in my neighborhood.”

I looked around my living room: my collection of porcelain hummingbirds, the bookcase full of pictures. I took the phone over to the window. Outside were the gardens I’d spent decades growing and cultivating, and beyond that the majestic Delaware River. How could someplace new ever feel like home? I wondered. Still, I had to make a change, even if it was only temporary. And even if I was afraid.

When the day came to leave New York, Jill flew in to help. “I put a full tank in the truck,” she said when the last of my belongings were loaded onto the U-Haul. “You ready, Mom?” I flashed Jill a brave smile, but in my heart I was terrified.

As the miles rolled by Jill and I sang along to the radio. We stopped off at a burger joint for lunch. I was feeling better already. Change was a natural part of life. Somehow, I’d just have to adjust. By the end of the trip I’d almost convinced myself the townhouse would have a little bit of a homey feeling.

“Here we are!” Jill announced. I got out of the U-Haul and crossed the yard. At the front door I put my key in the lock. My very own place, I thought. My new home. I closed my eyes and turned the knob. I stepped over the threshold and opened my eyes. Emptiness. That’s what I saw and that’s what I felt.

Jill and some of her friends unloaded the U-Haul and helped me arrange the furniture. I took out a few knickknacks and placed them around the living room. But who was I kidding? This didn’t feel like my home. This didn’t even feel like my life. God, I thought, have I made a big mistake by moving here?

“Mom,” Jill said, “why don’t you come spend your first night at my house?”

There was nothing I wanted more than to give in to my fear and run away from this place, but I couldn’t let Jill down. “You’ve done too much already,” I said. “I’ll be fine.” I promised to call if I needed anything and thanked her friends for their help. The group left with all good wishes for me. Lord, I wish I had their optimism, I thought as I locked the door. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop dwelling on the past.