Homesick

When I was nine years old and Colleen was seven, we were going to spend a few days with our cousin, Tammy, in Lexington.  It was August, and I had just celebrated my birthday.  We were excited at the fun we planned to have.

Tammy's life was so different than ours, and we really didn't know her very well, but we liked her a lot and got along.  She was right in the middle of us, and at eight, was taking ballet and learning to play an instrument, which was really exotic to us.  We were riding bikes and swimming in our little pool in the back yard and playing whiffle ball in the court, and anyone in a tutu was something special. She lived in an old Victorian house that was 3 stories tall and had a servant's wing, a claw foot tub, stained glass windows, and a fireplace in every bedroom.  The back stairs had once been used by servants, and my uncle's sense of humor enticed him to put a plaster hand on the newel post instead of the usual ball, and it freaked us out every time we used those stairs.  The house was massive, unlike our 3 bedroom ranch, but it had no yard, so we played in the park nearby, building fairy houses among the roots of the massive oak trees that grew there.

Tammy's room was at the top of the stairs, and her dad had hung what I remember as a big rubber band from her door frame that let us swing in the house.  We were able to get it going so high that we could almost swing out over the staircase.  We had great fun on that swing.  Later that first night, we all 3 crowded into the big tub in our bathing suits and splashed around like it was a pool.  Tammy and Colleen shared her bed, and I slept on an old army cot that they used when they camped.  It was exciting in idea but not in reality.  The cot smelled musty, and it was narrow and uncomfortable.  Long after my sister and cousin had fallen asleep, I laid awake in that very tall room, unable to see into the corners of the ceiling and looking at the fireplace and the strange closet wondering what might be lurking in those dark spaces.

The next morning, we headed to Tammy's swim lessons with the promise of a dip in the local pool afterwards.  We got to get in and be very quiet while Tammy took lessons, and then we got to swim for awhile, but not as long as we had hoped.  My aunt had fixed us a picnic lunch.  My favorite sandwich was cheese with mayonnaise (NOT Miracle Whip), but she didn't have any mayo or Miracle Whip, so she used butter instead.  I couldn't eat it.  We got a can of Coke to split between us (there were five of us counting my two older cousins), so we each got just a swallow.

The democratic convention was on TV, so we didn't get to watch "Little House on the Prairie" that Monday night, and there was no TV during the day, and we had to go to bed while it was still light outside.

Bit by bit, I realized that I missed my mom and the freedom I had at my house.  I missed the small room that I shared with Colleen and my bed and mayonnaise on my sandwich.  I missed Coke in a glass with ice and watching Gilligan's Island on a hot afternoon.  I missed my yard and my swing set and the knee-high pool that was in our back yard with the bucket of water to wash the grass off of our feet.  I missed riding my bike and my dad when he came home from work.  I got homesick, and I began to cry.

I couldn't stop crying.  I didn't know what hit me, but all of a sudden, I just wanted my mom.  My poor aunt didn't know what to do.  Calling Louisville was long distance, but she asked if I wanted to talk to my mom, and I nodded yes, tears running down my cheeks.  I heard her tell my mom that I was fine and that I just needed to hear her voice and I'd be okay.  She put me on the phone, and as soon as I heard Mom say, "Hi Sharron," I burst into tears.  I couldn't speak.  I remember standing there in the hallway sobbing, no words would come out of my mouth.  I could hardly even breathe.  My mom said, "Calm down, honey.  It's okay.  Do you want to come home?"  It was all I could do to moan, "Umm hmm!" My aunt got back on the phone, and they made arrangements for our dad to come pick Colleen and me up the next day.  My mom told me later that she couldn't stand the thought of leaving us there when we were so homesick.

I cried myself to sleep that night on that narrow cot.  By this time, Colleen had taken my lead and she was crying too.  Poor Tammy was left wondering what happened.

I don't remember a thing that we did the next day except that it was an excruciatingly long day waiting for my dad to get off work and drive to Lexington to get us, but I knew he would come, and it made the day bearable.  I remember being a little ashamed that I had wanted to go home so badly, but not so ashamed that I was willing to stay.

The ride home in my dad's car was heaven.  I don't remember much except the great feeling of relief and of never wanting to leave home again.

Well, as we all do, I finally left home, moving to Texas, then Arizona, and then Hawaii.  I built my own life as a wife and mother, and then the pull from Louisville was so strong that Kirk and I ended up back here, surrounded by family.  We bought a nice house in a neighborhood similar to the one in which I grew up, and I have a great life.

But today, I want to go home.  I ache inside like I did almost 40 years ago.  I would like nothing more than to pick up the phone and hear my mom's voice saying, "Hi Sharron, do you want to come home?"