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Wednesday, September 5, 2012

The spaces in-between

Originally found on my blog on The Holmes County Bargain Hunter. 

The spaces in-between

There are spaces in a house that no one thinks about.  That awkward nook going up the stairs, the corner with the rocking chair that we throw coats or gym bags on, and that space between the washer and dryer that leads to the bathroom.  We pass through these spaces every day and don’t give them a thought.  Yet these places are where the most information passes.  These places are where I meet my kids.

What I mean are those soft landing pads – the ones that absorb tears and make me pause and give my thoughts and concerns to whatever is going on in their lives.  The kitchen counters are a well-made place to sit on and talk until the wee hours.  I’ve had many a child and their friend talk to me about the cares of the world from this perch.  Three, sometimes four young bodies draped on my counters beside the crock full of utensils and spatulas, discussing the weight of their day.  

I savor these moments.

The carpets in our home hold many secrets too.  The plush slightly shag carpet in the purple room upstairs is home to a bevy of mysteries and told thoughts and plans.  It has been pumped full of blood, sweat and tears in the many years we have lived here.  It held suitcases packed full ready to leave for an uncertain future, and the excited thoughts poured out while packing them.  The carpet supported another beautiful soul as she worked her way back from the abyss of torn muscles, pounding that carpet every night as she built herself up to be well again.  The edge of the bed on each little dormer built into that room was a place for me to sit and hear.  Just to listen and hear – sometimes no more was needed.

Our front porch is made to be sat upon and enjoyed, albeit with cracked deck chairs and deep comfy cushions.  Discussions here, feel velvet in the cover of night.  I’ve sat with a child in my lap here hearing confessions and turbulence, as we went on to solve and pursue the wonders of the world with our conversations.  The porch floor has been a sturdy surface to sit upon and reflect, while sharing. 

If I have to name a spot, though, that’s held the most and deepest conversation it would have to be our pumpkin-colored bathroom.  In it is a small red stool which has held me captive while each one of my children has poured themselves and their cares out to me.  I can’t pinpoint why this bathroom is so conducive to rivers of emotion.  Its smooth care-worn walls hold tears and joys from years back.  It’s heard shy confessions of new loves, and the tears that have come from heartbreak.  It’s heard dreams and plans for new starts, and sinking feelings of hopelessness.  We’ve solved the entire world in this bathroom, and its walls vibrate with information.

There are spaces in a home we don’t think about every day.  We move through them and the veil of our lives, living out the ordinary with candor and passion.  These spaces in our home thrum with who we are.  They hold our hurts and fears, our joys and pain.  I will meet my children in these spaces until they inhabit my home no longer.  And when they are gone, the echoes of those words spoken will remain in the in-between.  

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