Going Home

They say you can’t go home again. I understand it’s a metaphor regarding the changes that people go through as life goes on and on for the one who leaves and those who don't. So, everything will be different when the prodigal child returns.

My old home in Sacramento

For me, that saying became literal as well. In 1976, I moved to Los Angeles from Sacramento, California for college. During my freshman year, my stepfather accepted a job in St. Louis, Missouri. So, my home in California disappeared into nothingness leaving Los Angeles as my new home. I used to tell people I didn't leave home, it left me. Missouri would never be home as I had no real connection to it and they lived there barely nine months anyway before moving once again. And, in reality, Sacramento wasn’t truly home as we’d only lived there about a year and a half before I left and two years before they did. Yet, my grandparents had lived there for as long as I can recall and remained there until they passed. So, Sacramento always was a home base of some kind.

My mother has lived in the Atlanta area since 1979. I recently went to visit and discovered another aspect of going home even if it’s just home to visit mom wherever she may reside. I’ve changed even more since my previous visit over a year ago. Last year, I’d toyed with the idea of telling her I was beginning to study the tarot and with my first baby steps in telling her, she replied “I thought they were supposed to be evil.” I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I didn’t.

This year I was still unsure about sharing that aspect of my new life. So, I chose to play it by ear. For several reasons, I ended up not opening that closet door. I tried explaining about being an empath by sharing a couple of my empathic moments. I tried explaining some of my intuitive experiences. I’m not sure she grasped any of it, but I’m grateful she listened even if she didn’t know what to say. No one usually does. I’m used to it, so I go it mostly alone, with a few friends who do understand. Kind of.

I did bring up the fact I see the same numbers over and over. I pointed out once that it was 1:11 on the clock and that I’d noticed 11:11 earlier that morning. She said she didn’t believe in that stuff. I took that as not a good sign.

I know this aspect of my life is hard to understand for those who are more secular or religious than spiritual. After all, those nasty tarot cards are frowned upon by churches and those who read them are children of the devil. We've been brainwashed not to pay attention to our intuition as it's seen by some as an evil spirit, mental illness or unreal. Other people get freaked out by it.

Mom and I had some moments of conservative vs. liberal politics but when we realized we would not see eye to eye we steered clear of them. Religion sort of reared its head and we ended up dropping that topic as well and we did the same with environmental issues. 

The view from my mother's back deck

All in all, it was similar to previous visits but for some reason my anxiety was through the roof. Maybe it was because I’m still getting used to these newer dimensions of me and I wasn’t sure of how to proceed in sharing with her, or if I even should. Maybe it was the idea of not being in my own home, my comfort zone. Perhaps it was just being around another person for 24 hours a day after living alone for so many years, regardless of who it was.

Or maybe it was just being in the conservative, oppressive south.

Maybe it was the realization that this was the first time in my life I knew she couldn’t be there for me as I needed her to be. Even as she tried.

Maybe it was all of the above.

I don’t wish to paint my mother as a difficult person. She isn’t. She is very loving and has been there as much for me as she has for my brothers and their issues. She was the only family member who initially stood by my side when I came out as gay. She has her upbringing which has led her down a conservative path and she recognizes we all have our differences which she respects.

As I reflect on what I learned about myself on this trip, I have come to this conclusion; it’s still difficult to ask for what I want or need in relationships. It wasn’t until almost the very end of my stay when I asked for some quiet time on my own. Yes, I could have gone up to "my room” and lie down or something. And, yes, I could have borrowed her car and gone into Atlanta for a day out on my own. But, it’s also hard to ask for that when you’ve made your annual trek across the country to visit and help your aging mother while recognizing she wants to maximize the time we have together. Based on her needs, obligations and other family engagements in the area, we arranged our chores around them, which then also limited my ability to go explore Atlanta. Plus, the two hour drive into the city was also a huge factor. 

So, all in all, it was a nice visit, even if it had its ups and downs. Hopefully, next time I’ll be a bit more grounded.  

Home, my comfort zone