Posted by: Kathy | August 10, 2013

Waiting for Me

I’ve driven this route
so many times.
Landmarks pass by
unnoticed.

I know every turn,
twist and bend,
until I arrive at the place
I once called home.

I don’t knock as I enter,
I don’t feel the need,
walking into the kitchen
of my childhood.

There is still familiarity
among the things that remain,
but the feel of the house
has very much changed.

For months after you died
your presence was so strong.
It was as if you were still here
with your family.

Memories tied to knick-knacks,
your scent lingered in your clothes,
conversations replayed in my mind.
You made this house our home.

But all of that is gone,
your presence erased,
bit by bit,
as changes are constantly made.

For so many years
I’d walk through the door,
knowing you’d be there
waiting for me.

How I wish I could turn a corner
and there you would be,
sitting at the kitchen table,
waiting just for me.

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Responses

  1. No worries Kathy, I’ve only just got to see your reply πŸ™‚
    We can’t get in to Mum house now, as people live there, I think, though there never seems to be anyone in when we go past.
    I have thought about knocking on the door and asking to have a look round, but it wouldn’t be right.
    The person that made that house what is was isn’t there now.
    Sure I still have loads of memories, some good, some bad, but the epicentre of those memories has gone, and is just wouldn’t be the same… though I might feel different if I ever did get in there again πŸ˜‰
    It would be very hard for exactly the reason you’ve written, and I understand why it is hard for you.
    I’ll do my best Kathy, you take care of you too, thanks.
    xxx

  2. Hi Kathy,
    Thanks for your message, I’m fine thanks, I went on vacation in July and the internet was terrible, so I didn’t get a chance or time really to post much 😦 and I’ve sort of lost the habit of coming on to wordpress sadly.
    Perhaps when life permits ( and It gets a bit colder ) I’ll be able to rekindle the habit πŸ™‚

    Your poem, your words are fantastic Kathy, I know exactly what you mean. It’s so spooky sometimes it could be me writing some of your entries.
    We had to sell Mum’s house, clear all her clothes and most personal possessions out, though we did share quite a lot of stuff between the family, but I felt ( and still do) that it was like erasing her from our lives, even though I know that’s not so.

    “How I wish I could turn a corner
    and there you would be,
    sitting at the kitchen table,
    waiting just for me.”

    I would give almost anything to do that just one more time.
    Thank you for sharing this, it’s beautiful.
    Take care Kathy,
    Love n hugs always
    Nick xxx

    • Thanks, Nick. Sorry for the delay in responding. I haven’t been blogging lately or even reading blogs I follow – life has been crazy. Walking into the house that is my parents’ home, the house I grew up in with them, but hardly holds any “traces” of my mom is hard. I get it. I understand the changes. But that house will forever be my parents’ home. I’m glad you can relate to my poem. I wish you the best. Take care of yourself, Nick.


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