slip-sliding away…..

When did you lose your family?

I mean, for many of us, we’re born into a family unit, and we spend our childhoods within the confines of that group: everyone together, going through our ups and downs, milestones, and everything else that comes in life. But sooner or later, the family fragments. Maybe some go off to other cities or countries for studies or work. Or even just move out to have space of their own. Or get married and start their own family.

Those left behind adapt, but eventually, they too may leave. Empty nest syndrome may strike the parents, and they might downsize their dwelling – now having to settle on visiting their kids and grandkids…temporary togetherness. A far cry from the now-historic unity of earlier life.

For me, the fragmentation started when I was 15 years old – when my older brother moved across the country to university. I followed him three years later, leaving just my parents at home. There were several stages of change after that, including – at one point – all four of us living apart (two in South Africa and two in other countries). And it became increasingly rare for the four of us – my original nuclear family – to be together in one place at one time.

But it took me a long time to actually realise that the state of separation would be permanent. When my brother left, and even through my university years, I somehow always assumed that we’d reunite at some point. But when I graduated from university, he had left the country to work overseas (where he’s remained ever since), and we sold our family home. Losing that house, I think, was a trigger for me. Soon after we moved out (into an apartment not too far away), I remember the night when it dawned on me. I cried so much that night, realising that my family – as I’d known it, the four of us, would never again be together. That this chapter of my life was over.

I think about all this for two reasons:

First, recent family changes: My wife’s family have always been an extremely close-knit unit. Even with two of the kids being married and living in their own homes, they still saw each other constantly. But my father-in-law passed away in July, leaving an un-fillable void in their lives. His son – my brother-in-law – is set to get married and move out next year, God-willing, which will bring about more change to their lives.

And though they will all still live in the same city, and likely see each other often, it won’t be the same. The days of that nuclear family being the way it was – are gone. The fragmentation is now being accelerated.

It’s just a part of life, just like how my generation are now the parents, and our parents are the elders. And our kids are now the youngsters in the family. My older daughter, and her cousin, both turned 13 this year – a milestone which really solidifies the realisation of how old we are (if we hadn’t already realised it).

The other prompt for this line of thinking is our possible move to a new home – which I wrote about the other night. And in this new house we’d move to, the previous family’s stuff is still there – pictures, furniture, etc. There’s still a sort of feel of the lives they led while this house was their base.

They’ve lived there for close to 30 years, and the parents in that home are now retired and downsizing – since the kids are all grown up with kids of their own. And now, when they leave and we move in (God-willing), it becomes our place. Our home for the next God-alone-knows-how-long. And though we see it as this “new” place now, it will play host to years and maybe decades of our lives, before eventually we leave it. Before we run the cycle that this departing family has run.

And these thoughts and feelings all came out into a poem:

—

What is a house?
Walls and windows.
Doorways and a roof.
Vacant spaces devoid of life,
yet full of wonder,
waiting to be filled
by those who will inhabit them –
a new dwelling.
A new adventure.

In we go:
moving trucks and mountains of boxes,
appliances and decorations,
clothes and curtains and furniture,
shifted here and there
in the chaos of transition
to this new space.

And when we’re all unpacked,
helpers gone and just us remaining,
we see this realm of new possibilities
with fresh eyes:
the structures that will hold
our hopes and dreams,
fears and anxieties,
devastations and ecstasies…

For this will be the place
where we
love
work
play
fight
reconcile
grow
learn.

In this time
we’ll lose ones we love,
and new faces may emerge;
and milestones will pass
as each of us traverses
the phases of life –
each facing different stages,
yet all of us together
in this single, shared space called Home.

Some will move out,
on with new lives,
while others remain,
adapting to the new reality,
but holding on
to the memories of time together:
the way we were…
The way we thought we’d always be…

But the clock ticks on and on,
the endless march of Time stops for none,
and these walls and windows,
doorways and roof
silently watch
as life moves forward,
and this home gradually empties…
eventually falling silent again,
until it’s time for them
to once more
sit vacant,
devoid of life,
waiting to be filled
by others
who will write chapters of their lives
within this place.

What is a house?
A house is possibility.
A base for life.
A space to make your own.
So treat it well.
Make it Home.

—