My mom called me this weekend and as soon as she said “Hi Jules….” I knew something was wrong. Turns out, there was a fire in my mom’s house….the house I grew up in.
I listened as she told me how she kept smelling something funny, and that sniffing out the smell led her to a corner in our family room, where she could hear the flames inside the wall. She told me how her boyfriend kicked a hole in the wall to use a fire extinguisher on the flames till the firemen came. She told me “I’m sorry Jules, but I think your piano is ruined.” She told me they were ok, but shaken up, and could not return home for 2-3 months.
It was around that time when I started to realize how this phone call could
have went. I tried to focus on the fact that my mom was ok, and the house would be repaired. But I couldn’t help but think about how I would feel if something happened to my mom while I was in California.
When I thought about moving away from home, I didn’t think about the “what ifs.” I didn’t think about what I would miss out on. I didn’t think about what could happen while I was gone. (I didn’t think about earthquakes even though my mom repeatedly asked “Aren’t you worried about earthquakes?”
With dwindling long distance friendships, grandparents who are only getting older, and now a fire in the house I spent 20 years in….I’m learning what a sacrifice I made by leaving. I have no regrets, but I know I will always miss the feeling of home. Even if that home is different now.
Special thanks to everyone on Twitter who sent good thoughts and prayers my way when I mentioned the fire. It never ceases to amaze me how supportive you are.