As I entered my mother's home, my childhood home, for what was quite possibly the last time last week, I was shocked.
Shocked at how much it no longer felt like home and how much it just felt like an empty shell. I made the comment to Alan that it reminded me of one of the abandoned houses we document - only traces of the people that lived there remain, but no longer a home.
I haven't been inside since before my grandmother died and it was just weird. My mother has been living there by herself for a little over a year and it's amazing at how different it is. She and my uncle have been slowly cleaning out my grandmother's things, as well as some of my mother's, and the place has that abandoned feeling to it, especially since my mom hasn't been able to get around by herself very well.
As I was going through things, taking some of my stuff that I wanted to make sure was kept, it hit me. This place was no longer my home. Physically it hasn't been my home in almost ten years. It's where my family was, so it was still home in a way. But no longer.
While my mom will always be my mom no matter where she is living, my home is with my family. With Alan, Ewan and Cecily.