31 Days: Creating Comfort

During my elementary years, I lived half of the time with my dad at my Grandparents' house. Their crowded modestly sized three-bedroom home included me, my sister, my dad, my Grandparents and their cranky Boston Terrier, Betsy, who really only liked my Grandpa.

Each night, we'd all gather, sprawled out on the couch, legs curled up into a ball. Me, wearing my Dad's oversized tee-shirt as a nightgown and my Mimi and Poppi in their designated chairs as we'd watch an episode of Mystery Theater or Touched by an Angel, depending on the night.

My Dad would sit, half watching, half reading, with the tip of his tongue sticking out across his lips as he got to a good part in his current novel. If it was a Mystery Theater night, my sister and I would, on cue, swoon during the opening credits as the damsel in distress would let out a worried cry before fainting.

My Poppi loved it. He would smile at us every time. A big Poppi smile with cheeks that reached the tips of his glasses.

This was home for me.

It was the place where I felt comfort. It was warm, safe. I loved the way I felt scooped up and held tight every time I came through the front door.

A little over 5 years ago, my Poppi passed away. My Mimi stayed in their home by herself for as long as she could, but eventually moved in with my Aunt and Uncle.

While I knew this move was good for my Grandma, I couldn't help but feel a loss of home.

The home where I would sit wrapped up on the couch, where I could fall out of bed and lazily make my way to the kitchen in my PJs. The home I always knew I had a room in at Christmas time.

It was my coffee smelling, leather couch lounging, book reading, PJ wearing place of comfort, and when it was gone I felt a hole.

I got up this past weekend before the sun came up with my littlest who has yet to adjust to the time change. We snuggled on the couch in the quiet for about 20 minutes, wrapped up in a flannel blanket that used to sit in my grandparent's house. Next, he drank his morning milk as I started the coffee in my PJs and messy hair. We sat and played with blocks on the living room tile, just the two of us as I sipped my hot coffee.

My oldest stood at the top of the stairs and happily pronounced, "mommy, I'm up!" We lounged together, our family in our cozy and quirky home. The one we've created in a foreign country.

Over the next few hours games were played, pages were colored, books were read, scenes were acted out, pancakes were made, and I felt it.

The comfort. The tight hold of this home around me. The voices, the people, the smells, the non-assuming attitudes.

And it felt so good. A comfort I haven't felt in a long time, and one that is here forever.