“Well, here we are.” My friend parked the car and I looked nostalgically at the home I grew up in. It was not quite what I had imagined, but it still had the aura of my old home. Now, however, the trees were tall and the house was small.
I sat quietly gazing at it, memories bubbling up like the fizz on a soft drink. Here was where it had all began … Then abruptly I jumped out of the car, ran across the street and headed for the front door. Before I could change my mind I had rung the front doorbell.
Within minutes a stranger opened it and looked out at me.
“I was a little girl in this house and grew up here. Would it be okay if I walked around to the back yard and had a look?” I tentatively inquired. For a minute she gazed at this short, white-haired lady and obviously felt I was no threat, and smiled. “My dear, just come right in and walk through the house. I’ve had the flu so the place is a mess.”
Yes, it was a mess and the rooms I remembered were no longer there, but finally we were in the kitchen. There is something so nostalgic about kitchens because they are the real heart of the home. I could still see where we had revamped the verandah and glassed it in to make a dining area … and a place for a small sofa … a good place for mom to keep an eye on a child who was unwell … and I was always unwell.
I knew just outside was the cement walk from the front door to the back. My tears gathered as I recalled the click, click of the metal cleats on my boyfriend’s shoes as he would come to pick me up. The boyfriend who, a few short years later, became my husband.
I explained my tears and the fact that I was a recent widow and this wonderful woman I had just met gathered me up in her arms. Comfort from a stranger.
The view from the back door was different. No longer did the cherry tree grace the edge of the lot, but there were the holly trees and far across the flats I could see the Fraser River and beyond that the magnificence of Mount Baker. We walked around to the garage. I had bounced so many balls off its front peak.
Finally it was time to go. I could see my driving companion gazing out the car window, looking a little anxious about my safety. I thanked my new friend and she gave me a warm hug goodbye.
“Are you okay?” my travel companion asked as she saw the tears flowing down my cheeks.
“Oh yes,” I replied. “I almost expected to see a little skinny blond-haired girl dash around the corner, with an apple in her hand.”
I looked back … the house was decidedly different but it is still filled with the memories of mom, dad and my sisters. And now a new memory … one of a stranger’s compassion that reached out and gave me a comforting hug.
