Heading Home and Hoping for Acceptance

I’m procrastinating. I know I need to pack but haven’t even taken out the luggage yet. I have mixed feelings about visiting Michigan. Of course I am excited to see friends and family. That goes without saying. It’s just... well, it's the only time I really have to confront the fact that I won’t see my Dad again.

I have this really unhealthy coping mechanism of avoidance. Have you been in an uncomfortable situation with me? Have we ever discussed and moved past it? Probably not. I hate that I do that. It’s not healthy. I think ignoring the problem will make it magically disappear, but really it just makes it worse and the relationship is forever damaged. If that happened with us, I’m sorry.

Last night I lay in bed thinking into the wee hours of the morning. No doubt I am running on 3, maybe 4 hours of sleep today. The kids must know it intuitively because they seem to be unusually quiet and happy to play by themselves right now.

I was thinking about those first moments I come back to my childhood home.

We turn the corner and I can see it. I am as excited as the kids on the ride over. We pull into the driveway and I have one last pang of anxiety. Are the kids hungry? Well rested? Will they behave? The family only sees them once a year so I have to make sure they are on their best behavior. Who am I kidding? We just traveled for 8 hours and they ate a bag of nacho flavor Doritos and some nuggets. No one slept on the plane and they have watched so much TV I’m sure their brains are in fight or flight mode. Oh well…

We walk up to the door and no doubt Kenzie will push the doorbell button – a novelty, since we don’t have one – at least 25 times in a row. The familiar squeak of the door opening rings through my ears. The same sound that would alert my parents to sneaking in past curfew.

I still expect to see the same brown shag carpet that I greeted me for 35 years, but my Mom replaced it a few years ago. The kids rush in past the dining table I consumed an obscene amount of Ramon Noodles at, and head right for ‘Grandma’s Toys’. I wish they would just give some hugs and then ask for toys, but history proves the hugs will come later, they are most excited for the toys they haven’t seen in a year but ask about every single time we FaceTime my mom.

I feel relief to see my Mom’s face again. We hug and then I reflexively look down into the family room at my Dad’s empty easy chair and the heartache will creep right back in.  The kids might be arguing about toys but the house will always seem too quiet without his booming voice.  

I make my way around the house. The seven steps upstairs creak as they did 20 years ago.  I go into the bathroom and look at myself. I don’t know what I expect to see but it’s not the person that is looking back at me. This person is so much older. She looks tired. There are more wrinkles on this face than I expected. I toss my hair and tell myself that this mirror is playing tricks on me. I don’t look that old.   

I walk into my childhood bedroom expecting to see the white wall paper with pink and teal splashes, and the stars on my ceiling that light up at night. None of those things are there anymore. I sit on the bed for a second to swallow the lump in my throat and pull myself together. I open the empty closet that used to hold all of Dad's clothes and push the luggage inside. Take one more deep breath and snap myself back to the here and now.

I don’t have my good coping tools in Michigan. I don’t have my favorite healthy salads or my rowing machine. I don’t have Lake Washington or a house I can relentlessly organize. I don’t have my Keurig machine and favorite Green Mountain French Vanilla coffee cups. I don’t have my mom group or my girl’s nights, to help remind me that life exists outside of my head.

Maybe I won’t need any of that. Maybe when I walk in this time I will feel at peace. Maybe it will be the final step to acceptance and I can put all of this anxiety behind me. Maybe it’s exactly what I need because people and places are presented in our lives at a time we need them.

Time to stop avoiding the uncomfortable. Time to see the house for what it is, not what it was. Time to let all of it go and enjoy the time we get there. My kids haven't even seen the playground across the street. They haven't spent hours looking for 4 leaf clovers in the back yard. This trip I will make new memories and give us something to look forward to on the next trip.