On Saturday our family gathered to honor my father on his 80th birthday. This event had been in the planning stages for quite a while and the surprise was successful.
We met at a park where well over 50 children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren gathered to pay tribute to a man who has molded all of our lives in a remarkable way.
As we roasted "Grandpa Mo" it was interesting to note the many references made to the old family home on Main Street in Springville. It has been a healing place for all of us at one time or another. From the trivial spats of childhood to the broken hearts of adolescence and on to the traumas of divorce, addiction and illness, this old home has stood resolute and strong as it held us all within its loving grasp. Here we were safe; here we were loved; here we could at least begin the healing process. When the question was asked how many of us had lived in that home, nearly every hand went up. I was amazed, because over these many years, I had forgotten how many of us sought refuge there.
There is a poem by Edgar A. Guest which reminds me a lot of our old family home. The first stanza reads like this:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam.
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow with 'em allus on yer mind.
It don't make any difference how rich ye get t' be,
How much yer chairs and tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain't home t' ye though it be the palace of a king
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.
Daddy said in the early days that the roof leaked, the windows were drafty and the carpets were thread bare. Good Housekeeping never did a photo shoot there even after several remodels. In fact, we often laughed at the fact that the decor looked like a jackpot casserole. But when it came to livin' and lovin' none could surpass the feeling that existed (and still exists) there. Indeed our souls are entwined and wrapped around every fiber of that old home. Although Daddy recovered from colon cancer there, Mom's cancer as well as mine, surfaced after they retired and moved to St. George. However, we learned the value of love and teamwork in that home and the lessons served us well when our future cancer challenges arose.
I have heard women in our group, Lifting Hearts, express love and gratitude for their homes and families. They have told stories of children moving home to care for them during treatments; stories of sacrifice, stories of love and pulling together; stories of loyalty, courage and faith. Although significant time is spent in hospitals to receive proper treatments for cancer, the bulk of our healing takes place in our homes surrounded by those we love. There is much comfort in the familiar surroundings and the presence of the people we love the most.
A big part of my heart will always be in that old home on Main Street, but Ron and I are trying to create the same feeling of love and security in our home now. Although we are steadily progressing towards that goal, it is indeed a work in progress. As far as I am concerned, whoever coined the phrase, "home is where the heart is" was inspired beyond measure.
-Kathy Christensen
Survivor
Member, Lifting Hearts
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