This sentence jumped out at me as if highlighted by another hand.
"Watching the commotion centered around Neville, I am grateful that my children have this shelter, this web woven of these interrelated lives that they can fall back on, wherever they may roam."The author is describing a homecoming visit of her soldier son to his many relatives who lived close by.
After marrying and moving to Denver, did I feel that I had this to fall back on? This woven web? Sadly, no. On one trip back to New York, I did go to see my Aunt Mildred, she who always made a huge fuss over me. I found that because of diabetes, she no longer drank and the person who greeted me at the door was reserved and distant. Home.
Two memories jolt me to the "now" and I share them with gratitude. Both were a result of our leaving Georgia and moving to South Carolina. On a brief trip home to Jonesboro, I sat with a treasured friend at IHOP and we caught up. Just listening to stories of her children filled me with joy. I didn't know how thirsty I was for the kind of friendship that we shared. The time together glowed in my eyes, the eyes of one who had been sadly exiled and didn't realize the depth of that sorrow.
That same year, my son and his family came to visit our retreat house on Edisto Island and the oldest boy, Aidan, who might have been 9 at the time, walked the labyrinth with the group of retreatants gathered that day. He was so attentive and respectful to this totally new experience, I was very proud.When they left, I noticed small shoes on the porch and the SUV returning up the driveway. I held out the shoes as my son rolled down the window.With tears, he said that they didn't at all like that we had moved here and they wanted us to know that.Tears.Tears.
As I type this, I recall what Aidan said after the walk as we gathered in the living room that long ago day. As he walked the labyrinth, he had thanked God for his home and family.Yes.
That is what we have created in Georgia. This home, this shelter. It is here, now.
