Homebody: A House is not a Home

 

Two years ago, I moved from the New Jersey shore to the central part of the state.  Ross and I had lived in Barnegat, NJ for over twenty years. 

My new home is about half the size of my Barnegat house, which is perfect for me as a single person. Moving gave me the opportunity to downsize and declutter. 

Even though I parted with many things, this house is still filled with furniture, artwork, and many other things that Ross and I shared. 

Having said that, I still do not feel 100 percent at home here.  Home was with Ross. He will always be in my heart, but I miss being with him,  

Because Ross and I lived here twenty years ago, the area I moved to is not entirely new to me. There have been a lot of changes since then.  It’s more built up, busier with much more traffic. I’ve had to reacquaint myself with the locations of doctors, stores, hair salons, and the like. 

I live in a gated community with over 2,000 units. There are many interests and activities offered.  I haven’t joined in and I don’t know if I ever will.  

This has been a long winter.  I’ve become something of a homebody.  I picture my hermit self one of these days stepping out of my cave in Birkenstocks, disheveled, wearing watercolor-paint-stained clothes, hair matted into dreadlocks.

Maybe that day will come.  Or maybe this is what this time of my life looks like.  

A smaller house.  A quieter life. Family nearby.  And a home filled with loving memories.