Even though I left Dublin over twenty five years ago to live 200 km away in Cork, with my new husband and subsequent four children, I still say as I leave for Dublin, that I am going home!
When I turn the corner at the bottom of our road, a million memories will bubble up. I will see friends from bygone days playing chase on the road and arguing over who was caught.
I will pass the small garden wall where I crashed my brothers brand new bike. It wrecked his bike and I broke my nose!
I will see the trees I was not allowed to climb but did so daily and remember the fields that used to be where houses now stand.
On reaching the top of the road I will drive in my familiar driveway and enter home.
My mum will be there to welcome me at the door, not quite as tall as she once was but still a ball of energy. Her warm embrace and welcome always fill my heart.
We will then head into the kitchen, the heart of my home. Much of the kitchen cupboards were made by my Dad, who died almost thirty years ago.
However my mom moves with the times so our kitchen does not live in the past,
yet it still inspires memories in me.
As I sit at the table supping tea, I will replay much of my youth.
The shouts and roars of my family rowing, the shrieks of laughter as we ate dinner together.
I will see my Dad joking around with Mum, pencil behind his ear, always building something.
I will remember how most of the neighbours children liked to gather in our house.
Later when I go upstairs to my old bedroom my trip down memory lane will continue. It was here I pretended to study. Lying on my bed, reading letters from my now husband, I dreamed of my wedding. It was in this room I could be alone in a busy house.
I can also remember when, for a time, I lost my home. My Dad had been sick for two years with Motor Neuron Disease.
We looked after him and despite his illness our house was a very happy one.
Then my Dad died.
The loss of his presence was enormous. Home was changed forever. For all my life home had been my Mum and Dad.
Now it was only Mum.
For a time I stayed away as much as I could. There was no urge to return. My house no longer felt like home and I couldn’t face it.
However, over time my amazing mum dug deep. She side stepped her own grief,
and continued to parent us all. She created a new home, just as welcoming,
and filled with joy as it once was. One by one we left home, but when my brothers and sisters visit, we are a family again and it often feels as if time has barely passed.
The old arguments continue as Mum oversees everything.
It is a place I love to be.
So next week when I head to Dublin, I have no problem telling everyone, I am going HOME.
I wrote much of this a few years ago and have rewritten it here so I can take part in Sadhbh’s linky on her blog, ‘Where wishes come from.’ It features different posts where bloggers remember their hometown. I know I didn’t quite stick to the rules, but I didn’t grow up in a beautiful small Irish village which I can wax lyrical about, as many of the others taking part did. Instead I grew up in Dublin, a large city I love, in a housing estate. It may not sound like the prettiest place on earth but it is and always will be ‘home’ for me.
Why not call over to read some of the other links and perhaps you might consider joining in? Fair to say we have a fair chunk of Ireland covered but it would be lovely to read some posts from ‘abroad.’ Here is where you’ll find it. ‘Live where you live.’
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