We can’t go back to the places we have lived and find the life that we lived and were. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to go back and visit where I have lived my different lives. Some of the homes I lived in have been torn down, burned down, or are occupied by other families.

We can’t go back really. A good question to ask is why we would want to? For reconciliations? To fix the missteps? To swim in a familiar pond that might have yielded some loving times, warm times, times of feeling loved or okay. To go back and try to see things differently? To laugh or cry with joy or sadness about the way it was at times? To find the answers to the mystery of your self? To have made different decisions? To have stood up for yourself when you didn’t? To once more hug someone you have lost since then? To go around and clean up some of the poop you though was slung all over the house or to realize there was no real poop, only humanity not quite living up to its potential?

Sometimes it might be helpful to go back to the physical house and put the ghosts to rest that way. If impossible to do that, take a mystical, magical, meditation in the quiet of yourself. Ask the questions you want to ask. Say the things you want to say. Ask to see the bigger picture and to understand, to forgive, to let go of that which holds you back. Ask to have your heart opened to loving where the hurt or disappointment might have been. Ask to see all the blessings you did have, the love you did have, the people who gave you hope and encouragement that you may have forgotten and those who did show you kindness. As I write this I am reminded of a teacher I had whom I knew had an idea about the hurt and the loneliness I often felt. He knew I was at the bottom of the elite list of kids who had privileges and money or popularity. He knew that often I came to school with colds and chapped lips that were neglected or unattended as though I had some absences of parental due diligence. I could feel that he was empathetic and caring. I will never forget that.

You can’t go back. Why would you want to? But you can in your mind and heart travels remake, redo, re-evaluate, reconstruct, forgive, remember the blessings, shed any illusions about your worthiness or the poop you though was all around and being flung at you. Visit but don’t go back to stay. Your home is within you and the life you make this very day each and every day. Make it the way you want it but don’t lie about it. Be honest, be loving, and take care of you and remember that home is where your heart is not a building or structure. That’s a house. It is not a home.


Today as I sat in the play room in my daughrer Karen’s basement I began going through boxes of belongings that had been transferred from the  home I had in Georgia to her garage also in Georgia for storage until I could go through them.   As my hands worked through the contents of each box I found that I was, now and then, dipping my hands into pools of memories – photos, journals, memoribelia, greeting cards, home decore items, dishes and paper records of sales, taxes, and transactioons.  Among the treasures was a knited cap my fist husband used to wear.  I could hold it and put it on my head without tearing up or feeling deep grief but memories flashed through my mind like a fast-forward movie and I foound myself smiiing and thanking him for being who he was and for loving me.

During the self-impossed treasure hunt I found a few things to give away, some to trash, some to go to FLoirda with me.  I probably have enough paper work to shred that would be enough to stuff a huge couch.  Still this would not equal all the memoies that settle down in each container like ghosts from the past.  Reading a few greeting cards from my second hunsband, I was touched by the beautiful  and loving words the card imparted.       There was one with a note from him thanking me and telling me he love me for taking a chance on him when I had known from the start that he had a cancer diagnosis that could possibly take his life within seven years.  It was a gamble for sure.    My future with him was probably not going to last for much more than seven years if that. I believed I was in love again and missed a partner in my life   So, I took the chance and built new memories with him.  As I closed the card, I viewed the memory with no regrets.  It was meant happen the way it did from our metting to our marriage and his death

When you disturb the ground of memories, old roots appear but with those roots come more healing and another step of two in the new life unfolding.  Wiser eyes peer back through the years and see things with clearer understanding causing more love and thanksgiving to bubble to the surface.  The chore of going through boxes of stared items is indeed a treasure hung of huge proportions.