“Home is where you hang your hat”
The Karate Kid, part II
I’m blogging this morning from South Carolina. My stomping grounds of the last eight years.
Two days ago, I made the trip down South to pick up my son for a week-long visit and to hopefully, tie up a few of the proverbial loose-ends with the Soon-To-Be-Ex. I can’t even find the words to describe how happy I was to see my son again. It’s only been one month; but some of those days felt like weeks. My time with him has been an absolute blast so far. To her credit, the STBX has stepped back and allowed us as much father-son time as possible while I’m in town. The next week in Michigan is going to be pure, unadulterated fun.
Walking into my former home for the first time was surreal. I blogged previously about how “you can’t go home again”. In that instance, I was talking about returning to your childhood home. I think that’s a sensation that almost every adult can relate to because, to paraphrase The Breakfast Club, we all ultimately grow dissatisfied with our home life; otherwise, we’d live at home forever.
What I’m talking about this morning is a feeling only divorcees can relate to. I knew the my STBX was going to be “cleaning house” in order to either make room her father to move in, or to pare down and move out of the state. But when you call a place home, have a direct hand in the arrangement, configuration and overall spirit of said home – only to return finding it moderately altered – you truly realize that it is no longer the place where you once laid your head at night. Granted, a large part of the void I felt was a result of our dog having to be euthanized within days of me moving out. This feeling goes beyond the lack of any of my personal effects. The most subtle changes, a new light fixture or a slight rearrangement of furniture reinforced the feeling that this was no longer my home.
I had several hours alone at the house today, during which I was packing my remaining personals. With all of these new feelings swirling within me, there were a few fleeting moments when I felt as I had during the last few months that I was still living in The House. For the lack of a better word, I felt as if I was a guest in my own home, again. This didn’t feel like home now and it certainly hadn’t felt like home for the last few months I was here. This has only reinforced in me the idea that this whole separation/divorce thing is for the best.
LET’S END WITH ANOTHER VIDEO:
I heard this song several times on my way down here. While I can’t pretend to be a big fan of the Rolling Stones, but the chorus is hitting home with me: “you can’t always get what you want But if you try sometime, you just might find You get what you need”