From I mistook the warnings for wisdom
From so called friends quick to advise
Though your touch was telling me otherwise

Somehow I saw you as a weakness
I thought I had to be strong
Oh but I was just young
I was scared I was wrong

Not a night goes by I don't dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now everyday I wake again, in a house that might have been

A home

A home

Guess I did what I did believing
That love is a dangerous thing
Oh but that couldn't hurt anymore than that
Not a night goes by I don't dream of wandering

Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now everyday I wake again in a house that might have been

A home

A home

Four walls, a roof, and some windows
Just a place to run when my working day is through
They say home is where the heart is
If the exception proves the rule I guess that's true
Not a night goes by I don't dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now everyday I wake again in a house that might have been

A home

A home

Disclaimer: The song Home is by the Dixie Chicks.

As I wander through these empty halls I am flooded by memories of a happier time.  This was my home for twenty some years.  It was a home for forty years to the two wonderful people who brought me into this world.  Now as I move through the vacant rooms I can hear the sounds of laughter, the cries of heartache but mostly I can hear the sound that love makes.

What does love sound like?  For me it is the sound of laughter, dogs barking, cats purring and even the sound of the hamster wheel going round and round.  It’s the sound of rain pounding against the roof and the roar of the fire in the fireplace.  It’s the sound of triumph and tragedy.  I can hear a baby crying and a teenager rebelling and my parents arguing.  It was much more peaceful after they made up.  It’s a mother comforting her child after the loss of a pet and the sound of a daughter comforting her mother as the life of a cherished father and husband slowly ebbed away.   It’s the echo of an empty house filled with life as it becomes a home.

 My parents were an average couple in the fifties.  It was a much different world than it is today.  Some say it was a time of innocence while others may view it as a time of oppression.  My mother was a flight attendant or as they were called back then, an airline stewardess.  It was considered a position of status and glamour third only to the stars of Hollywood and fashion models.  When she married my dad she was forced to resign from her position.  Stewardesses were not allowed to be married.  It was a corporate rule and my mother sacrificed one dream for another.

They were married for only a year when their family grew with the arrival of my older sister.  Like many young couples in the early fifties they were unprepared.  There were no choices and their family of two became three.  They decided to move to a growing city in a new county in California and so they moved into a small three bedroom home in Anaheim in a county named after the rows of orange groves that filled the vast expanses of land in between the sparse building of new construction.
To celebrate the purchase two palm trees were planted, one in the front of the house and one in the backyard.  I never saw the house when it was first purchased for the grand some of nine thousand dollars as I wasn’t even a twinkle in my parent’s eyes.  But I have seen the photos and I can still picture it before the many renovations that were made by my carpenter father using only the descriptive stories my mother would tell as a guide.

A long driveway led up to the garage that if not filled with tools and gadgets could house the nineteen fifty-five red Chevy Belair that represented the young couple’s first new car purchase.  To the left was the front door.  There was one very large room that doubled as the dining area and living room complete with a console television and stereo with an automatic turn table.  To the immediate left of the entrance was a very small but functional kitchen with polished built in cabinets, a gas stove, two door refrigerator and a garbage disposal in the sink, all very state of the art appliances for the times.

A second door on the opposite side of the kitchen led to a hallway with three bedrooms and a full bath.  The master room measured twelve by fourteen feet and was considered very spacious.  The backyard was very large which would prove useful as the house grew to match the growing needs of the occupants.
Within four years the family comprised of a four year old toddler and a newborn son, the perfect family.  The house expanded when dad added an additional room to match the size of their living/dining room.  It was aptly named the family room and quickly became the central hub of activity.

The room included custom built in cabinets adorning the walls to be filled with books for the children.  To the right was a magnificent stone fireplace complete with an eight foot stone bench.  When filled to blazing one could sit down directly in front and be warmed by the roaring flames.

The West wall looked like any other wall with built in cabinets until one looked closely enough.  A keyhole was cleverly hidden and when the furniture was moved and the cabinet unlocked a table unfolded with two wooden legs that screwed in underneath to support the structure.  Glued to the table was a tiny town complete with a fire station, houses, a church, lots of trees and of course a train station and plenty of tracks to run the hobby train set, a favorite past time for the family before television became such a prominent factor in their lives.

But the house wasn’t finished yet.  With the addition of another child eleven years into their marriage the house was expanded one last time.  I came into this world two weeks late on the hottest day of August in nineteen sixty-two, a detail my mother never let me forget.  I am the perfect example that safe sex is a myth unless you are celebate as I was the product of a broken condom disrupting the perfect family.

I was the last child.  Mother underwent surgery to make sure of that.  A massive bedroom was built onto the back of the house complete with a walk in closet, full bathroom and utility room to store the washer and dryer.  The house was complete and the home was filled with love for forty years until the occupants left the building.

Now when I travel back through the halls of that home is it a journey through my mind filled with memories of that simpler time.  But was it really any less complicated than life is today?

I walk through the halls of my own home filled with all of the modern conveniences of the twenty-first century.  I have comfortable furniture, a stereo system for my listening pleasure with televisions and VCRs in every room.  My kitchen is filled with all of the latest gadgets from the microwave to my George Foreman grill, the single person’s best friend.  I have my desktop computer in my office and the laptop sits by my favorite recliner complete with Internet access where I can interact with people from all over the world.  Daily I hear the sounds of my two dogs barking and my two cats purring, both comforting sounds as I move through the walls alone wondering about the home that might have been.

I sleep alone in my king size bed surrounded by two over grown felines usually waking up once or twice during the night.  It’s three in the morning and I look at the clock before leaving the bed.  In my mind I hear the sound of a baby crying and I wonder what it would be like to go into the next room and comfort the child in a crib.
There is no baby in distress only a cat raising his head to see what has disrupted his sleep.  I lumber into the restroom shivering from the cold night air before returning to the warm cozy blankets, the echoes of cries that were never heard reverberating in my head until darkness envelopes me.

The sound of that annoying alarm rings in my ears waking me from a restless sleep, separating me from a pleasant dream.  The real world beckons me.  It is six in the morning and in one hour I will be expected to arrive at work.  I wait for the last moment to wake up enjoying every second of slumber.  The cats rub against my leg as I shake the sleep from my eyes and move through the walls of my house.

I should be thankful.  I have only myself and my furry little buddies to attend to but I can’t help but think of how things could have been.  In my mind I wake the child up.  It is her first day of school and I rush to help her prepare, dressing her and making her breakfast.  I make sure she has everything necessary for that first day.  After all kindergarten is a big step in a child’s life.  I buckle her up and make sure she is safe and we drive off.

I put on my stoic face and try not to cry as I say goodbye watching my baby grow up.  I break down in tears as I drive away from the parking lot proud of myself for containing my composure even when she cries and begs me to stay.  I break out of my reverie stopping for my morning coffee wondering if this moment really would have been so poignant had it ever transpired.

It’s just another day at work.  I guess I still haven’t figured out what I want to be when I grow up but I have time.  I am only forty.  I do my job and do it well with pride.  I am no longer the high paid professional I was in California but I make an honest dollar for a hard days work.

As noontime approaches I picture myself clocking out to pick up my little girl and bring her to grandmother’s house until I can come home from work.  She is so happy to see me but filled with excitement.  She’s already made new friends laughing as she tells a funny story.  The teacher was so proud of her for already knowing how to read, something I taught her.  She loves books and has the same thirst for knowledge I craved when I was her age.

Grandmother is so happy to see her and thankful for this time with her only grandchild.  Her eyes light up and her heart swells with pride when she gazes upon this child who has her grandfather’s eyes, so full of young life.  I know my father will end work early to spend precious time with this little one.

She is already showing signs of athleticism, a trait she inherited from me and he will be eager to toss the softball around with her and test the new glove I bought her.  She is very anxious for T-ball to start in the springtime.

These are my thoughts as I drive to the nearest fast food restaurant and purchase my lunch, rushing back to work so I’m not late.  But I can hear her laughter as I navigate back to the plant, laughter that only I can hear.

My mind wanders at work during slow periods.  I think about her.  The antique carousel horses that once adorned her birthday cake are now absent from the celebration.  She has outgrown them.  The training wheels are gone from her new bicycle.  It’s pink with matching ribbons on her handlebars.  Thank goodness for credit cards.  Mother has decided to adorn her own scooter with pink ribbons and bows.  She believes that a wheelchair draws more attention to her handicap and the children have fun taking rides on her lap.
Halloween is around the corner and my little girl has decided she wants to be a princess.  My baby is growing up, an all star catcher by day and a princess at night.  Mother is busy sewing the finest costume in the neighborhood.  We never had store bought outfits growing up and just because I can’t sew buttons back onto my blouses is no reason for our little princess to go without a finely sewn garment.  The streets are no longer safe for children to travel alone so I accompany her and her friends Darth Vadar and Luke Skywalker.  She opted to go simply as a princess when I offered to glue donuts to the side of her head so she could be princess Leah.  She doesn’t understand my sense of humor.

My shift is over and it’s time to go home.  I clock out for the day and get into my car and head for the interstate.  I turn the radio on to my favorite country station.  The song being played is “He Would Be Sixteen”.  It seems to be an appropriate song as my mind travels back to those haunting thoughts.

I see myself rushing to pick her up.  I have all of her softball gear and her uniform in the trunk of the car.  I pull up to the parking lot and anxiously search for her face among the throngs of children relaxing when I see the sparkle of green in those eyes reflecting in the suns rays.

We hurry off to the park and change our clothes to prepare for the game.  I smile at my parents sitting in the stands as she steps up to the plate then return my focus to the girls giving her the sign to swing away.  She hits a single and begins a much needed rally for our side.

It’s a hard fought battle but we win.  She asks me if we can go to the batting cages and work on her swing because she only had one hit today.  I smile and promise her that we will go on the weekend then reaffirm how proud I am of her.  She always gives one hundred and ten percent.

I shake my head and hit the gas peddle as horns go off behind me breaking me from my reverie.  I find myself back to reality and almost home.  At least there are four furry beings that rely on me.  I am greeted at the door by two large cats purring loudly as I stroke their fur then walk through the house to the backdoor and let the dogs end.  After a few minutes of boundless energy they stop jumping around and follow me into the bedroom as I change into more comfortable clothes.
I wonder what it would be like to rush home and fix dinner for someone other than myself and once again lose myself in my daydreams.  I have a casserole prepared and salads in the refrigerator.  She’s still upset at me for not stopping at McDonalds but I don’t want her to have to experience the same weight problems I did growing up.

We sit at the dinner table together and talk about the events of the day.  She actually enjoys talking to me even though she is almost a teenager.  Like my mother before me I warn her that when she hits that age our relationship might change.  Actually I tell her exactly what mom told me, “When you are a teenager you will hate me.”  Inside I silently pray that we will continue to be as close as my mother and I were during this time.  She laughs at me and makes a promise that it will never happen, then gives me a hug and a kiss before going off to bed.

In reality I am alone.  Dinner is a piece of steak cooked on my George Foreman grill, a salad and a roll.  I’m not very hungry tonight.  But then I never really am anymore although my weight would reflect otherwise.  I sit in my recliner and turn the TV on attempting to eat with two large felines surrounding me on the chair and two large canines sitting at my foot staring up at my with large soulful eyes waiting for something to drop.

When I’m finished I get up to do the dishes and put a load of laundry in the washer.  I guess I should feel lucky since I only have one load to do instead of several.  You know how children can be especially young girls on the verge of adulthood.

Like me her room reflects a normal teenage attitude.  Clothes are strewn across the floor.  Loud music blasts from the stereo while talking to her best friend about dating on the telephone ignoring my incessant pleas to help with the laundry.  She rolls her eyes and reluctantly relinquishes the phone complaining about my constant nagging and reminding me that Jennifer’s mom let’s her talk on the phone any time she wants.  I remind her that I’m not Jennifer’s mom.
I move to the front room to iron my slacks for work.  I look at the photos on the wall.  There are photos of my animals, some prints taken for school and several photos of events I have covered in the past.

I think about if things had been different.  There would be pictures of her at every age including the first time she met Mickey Mouse at Disneyland.  Of course she was too young and scared to enjoy that photo.  There is something about an over sized mouse that seems to strike fear in the heart of a child at such a young age but like my mother before me I calmed her down enough to take the photo.  Now she runs to Tigger and gives him a big hug.

This wall would be filled with photos of her first steps, posing with her proud grandparents beaming with pride, the two of us at the first mother and daughter night at school.  I can see photos of her in action playing softball maybe even starring in the school play and the senior prom with her handsome date.  I think about our chat before the big night not knowing how to discuss sex with my daughter.  That was a topic that was never discussed in my parent’s house and I learned by doing it something I promised I wouldn’t let happen to my child.

I give her the usual spiel about how wonderful sex is and how incredible it is when you actually love the person.  She is aware that I have had many female lovers and reminds me that it is her decision.  I also remind her that she is the product of my first time with a man.

She’s smart and throws in the part of regrets.  She knows I can’t argue this point because she is the most precious thing in my life.  She continues and tells me that Jennifer says it’s okay and before I can stop myself I hear my mother talking with my voice, “If Jennifer said it was okay to jump off of a cliff would you do it?”
I want to slap myself because even in my dreams this conversation goes badly and before she can respond I reply with the obligatory story of my own conception reminding her that she comes from a very fertile family and condoms can break, especially cheap condoms.  She laughs and reassures me that she isn’t ready for a family yet.

I walk through the quiet halls of my house and feed the dogs, check on the cats and fill their water dishes.  I stop in the kitchen to wash the dishes and my thoughts go back to her.

She has endured more heartache than a young girl of her seventeen years should and is stronger for it.  She misses her grandfather as I do.  He left us a few years ago, the stress on his body from taking care of my mother for so many years finally taking the ultimate toll.  I like to think that he watches over me and sits among the brightest angels in heaven.

She adjusted much better to the move out of state than I have making many new friends at the high school she attends.  Her grades are good and she continues to excel at sports giving her many more options than I had when I was her age to attend college.  I silently pray she chooses UNLV and stays close to home but I know she will be attending school out of state.

Mother’s health has continued to decline and now as my baby approaches graduation we face our greatest challenge together.  With graduation just days away she has been diagnosed with a brain tumor.  It will take a number of assistants to get my mother out of the house and into a wheelchair to watch the ceremony but she insists and my child wouldn’t have it any other way.

We watch as she walks to the podium to accept her diploma.  I am madly clicking away with the camera careful to record every detail of this momentous occasion.  She looks stunning as she receives the certificate and turns to us in the crowd with her hands raised in exhaltation blowing us a kiss.  I will spend the rest of the evening getting my mother comfortable and worrying until my baby comes home safely.

She comes home early in the morning her curfew having been lifted for this once in a life time celebration.  Mom is sleeping comfortably and we talk about the days ahead.  It seems that like myself before her she is now sitting in the house holding my hand and consoling me as I prepare for the inevitable.

With the dishes done I move through the room saying goodnight to the animals as I make my way toward the bedroom stopping in front of the mantle on the fireplace.  There is a photo of my mother and I taken with her favorite singer Lorrie Morgan.  It is the last photo of us together.  I stop and wonder how it would have been in the home that never was.

I think of the day that god saw fit to take her from me and in my mind I see the strength of my child comforting me, wondering where such strength came from.  Certainly not me.  She lost her grandmother just days after graduation but she is comforted knowing that she was strong enough to see her only grandchild graduate from high school.

We rummage through old photographs reminiscing about all of the good times we shared.  She will be leaving for college at the end of summer and worries about leaving me alone.  I assure her that I will be all right but she sees right through me.
 It’s early in the morning and I hug and kiss her good night as I have done every day of her seventeen years in this life, something that was missing from my childhood.  She reciprocates the emotions not wanting to leave me alone after such a traumatic event.  It’s just like her to worry more about me than herself but there are no more tears left to cry.

I continue through the living room wiping the tears from my eyes.  I miss my parents and I live with my choices.  These are the thoughts I have every day of my life.
They reflect the home that I grew up in and the home I chose not to have.  I’m forty now.  My life hasn’t turned out as I expected.  I live alone with only the love of my four legged friends to keep me company.  I often ask myself if I would have done things differently with the knowledge I’ve acquired over the years.  The simple answer would be, “Hell yes.”

 But is it the answer of truth?  I know the end of this story, at least the last twenty years.  It’s kind of like saying, “I knew the Angels would one day win the World Series.”  Let’s forget that for the last twenty years I was one of thousands of faithful fans convinced that it would never happen.    It is easy to envision myself now as the parent of an adult child possibly even a grandmother.  In my dreams she is that vibrant and intelligent young woman with piercing green eyes and a beautiful smile.  The world is waiting for her to make her place in it.

 We are very close and I am the proud parent sickening my friends with the constant chatter of her achievements.  It’s so easy to think about that now.  My decision however never could of guaranteed such bliss.  It only affirms that I was a coward, of the worst kind.

 Dreams are a wonderful thing.  They can propel you to new heights and help you to achieve greatness when they are of the future.  But broken dreams of what might have been can only hold you back.

Life is to be lived and mistakes are to be learned from even terrible decisions that can haunt you for eternity.  I will never regret being given the choice and I accept my cowardess and I will live with the regret of the home that never was and so many questions without answers, questions that will never be answered.  I will never know if I could have had the strength and character to raise such a child in this world.

Could I have carried the baby to term?  Would she have been born healthy?  What role would the father have played if any?  I don’t have the right to ask these questions.  I made the choice.  I listened to my fears and insecurities and made the decision that I believed to be the best at the time.  It is the life I have created for myself in a house that provides me shelter.  One choice, one life never lived, one broken heart and one thousand unanswered questions and what ifs.  This is the home that never was.