Today I found myself missing my home. I miss my home. Although I stay in the house that I was raised in, it is not the same house to me anymore. Hurricane Katrina washed that away. I miss how the kitchen was still in that 1970’s era with the big spoons on the wall. I miss the memories that seemed to greet me every single time I walked into a room. I miss seeing the crayon marks that my kids and my nephews put on the wall. I miss opening the cabinets and seeing pots that had a name (oh, that’s moms’ red bean pot; no, the gumbo pot is in the back.) I miss feeling my mother’s spirit. She died in her bed but, she never left that house. I could feel her everywhere. I can’t feel her in this house. Everything is new, even with the same layout it all feels so new, so different. I know change is a good thing a lot of times (vote for change) but, I don’t like not being able to feel my history. I didn’t have a bad childhood, for the most part, it was great. Even with all of that damage, when I walked in I felt like I was home..finally. Ok, the first floor was totally destroyed and the second floor needed a lot of work but, there’s no place like home Toto. With every worker that walked out of my house carrying debris, out walked a memory, a story a piece of my family fabric. My grandfathers chifferobe, my jr and sr prom dress, my MIL doll collection, my brothers’ comic book collection, my mother’s everything. Just gone, sitting on the curb waiting for FEMA to pick up and dispose of.
These new walls and flooring feel cold to me, they have no memories. I want my old house back, I want my old home back. That damned Katrina took away so much more than people know.