HomePosted: October 23, 2015
He arrived at Suess House at 6:20pm, knowing She would be out until 8 or so.
As He walked up the stairs to the door, He felt a calm. It felt like home. He topped the stairs, assessed the living room. Yes, there were certainly remnants of the previous weekend’s company. She had been busy every night this week.
He wandered through the kitchen. “A quick smoke, then I’ll pick up” He said to himself. He popped a Marlboro from the pack on the kitchen table and wandered out onto the sunset deck.
He noticed the quiet. It was deafening. He was rarely alone at Suess unless He was writing. Distracted. Here, alone in the evening, it seemed empty. It was feeling less like home.
He put out the smoke and went back in, straightening up. Putting away the clean dishes. Moving dirty from sink to dishwasher. Wiping down the counters. Moving to the living room. Placing the pillows properly. Putting away the afghans. Moving up to make Her – Their – bed.
When He finished He plopped on the couch and surveyed. Suess is “homey” – She decorates beautifully. She has a certain style permeating the pores of the odd house. She had offered to help Him with his ramshackle, but so far He had declined.
Despite beautiful appointments, the warmth He normally felt there was absent. It didn’t feel “home” any more. It puzzled Him.
That’s when the obvious Hit him: “Home” for Him wasn’t a place. Furnishings. Art. Firepit. Those were nice. They made home “better” but they weren’t home and never would be for Him. Home was the people He loved. Her, His sons, His parents, His sister.
Suess felt like “home” because She was there. Her smile. Her joy. Her laughter. Her wit.
It felt like home again when she drove in at 8:07.