Over the past couple of days, I have been reminded more than once about the heart of a home. As signs often do, they came to me out of the blue and in a few different ways.
Our impact on each other, whether we are family, friends or strangers, can’t be ignored. It happens every day, in ways we may not ever even know. As we spoke of on April 15, 2018, here at Chatterbox, we can leave a mark anytime, even if it’s only a moment of attention paid to a small child on the grocery line.
These days, of course, we can’t ignore the elephant in the room: the virus. It’s all around us, for sure. We have all been tested to the limits with this quarantine, social abstinence and all the precautionary measures we are subjected to – most certainly, all very smart investments, but annoying nonetheless.
Like millions of others, I just celebrated a birthday in quarantine for the second time. Also like millions of others, mine was for a very special age, as well. Last year, the world thought, “Oh well, a birthday in quarantine. We’ll Zoom instead, and this will all be over in a few months.” (We can all roll our eyes now). Still, we must be grateful for every day we and our loved ones remain safe. We all understand it will be this way for us over the next few months, perhaps longer.
So, once again, we were hardly partying in quarantine. Without half my children and most of my grandchildren, as well as all of my closest relatives and dearest friends, it was tough for anyone to make this celebration special. Somehow my loved ones managed it, but the words I was gifted about being the heart of the home were the best part of it.
While still basking in the glow of those words and the celebration, I stumbled on another sign: cards from Mother’s Day, 2019, celebrated before these socially limited times. The old cards’ hand written additions were so very genuine and loving. They made me grateful, but one, specifically, brought to my attention something that had long eluded me … something that should be obvious to so many of us.
We’ve talked before about how Sunday, the day long reserved for most religious practices and for family, went on America’s auction block decades ago, and it’s often said that, as family elders pass away, families don’t gather in the same way as the old traditions pass with them. However, when that inevitability occurs, as my handwritten notes reminded me, the next generation’s members become the new elders, the cog in that wheel. While we reminisce about our own “hireath,” we may not realize it or think of ourselves that way, but we do, and I just never noticed it.
Every generation will have a different past to yearn for, so we can keep the old traditions or create new ones. For our adult children, they’ll blend with their childhood memories. For the little ones, they will become their childhood memories, their youthful part of what they reflect upon when they are adults. Either way, those traditions will be remembered. That, in and of itself, is enough to inspire us.
Some of us will never be parents. Others may not be parents or grandparents yet, but our home holds its memories for anyone we make traditions for or with. In this way, we create what they’ll reminisce about and tell tales about to their own kids. Generation after generation, we grow and, eventually, become the cog. Then, whether we replicate old traditions or create new ones, there is always a hireath for the little ones to come of age with. We each create it. Eventually, it’s in our control and up to us.
Most often, we make it happen without even realizing it, always creating memories, even without planning them, but it’s wonderful to realize that we have, somehow, become the new hinge pin. We become that warmth and familiarity, that comfort and safety … or even just that reminiscence which comes with a certain aroma on a Sunday morning.
Generation after generation we are all always blessed to be solid part of someone’s memories. Down through all generations, entire courses are charted by these mere moments.
Now in these difficult days, these moments mean even more, but it’s always a wonderment to realize we’ve become the heart of any home and the home in any heart.
Stay well.
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