Home is Where the Heart Is

  • Post category:Blog / General

Some of you may know that I moved house recently. It’s not my first move – in fact, I’ve moved house five times in the last five years. Crazy times! It wasn’t planned, but you know what it’s like. Circumstances change and you find yourself packing up once again. Drat those circumstances!

When I left my most recent house, just over a month ago, I took photos so that I would be able to remember it. Truthfully, I expected to be in floods of tears for months. It was, after all, a very nice house, and we’d had a pleasant and (mostly) peaceful time there, and the only reason I’d considered moving at all was purely down to financial reasons. It was quite expensive, and my dream is to give up the day job next year and write full time – actually, it’s not a dream, it’s a plan! Must get that into my head! – so we’re looking at all ways to make the loss of that extra income doable and bearable. So really, if it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have moved at all because I was quite settled where I was.

What’s really astonished me is finding that I absolutely don’t miss that house at all. I haven’t shed a single tear for it, and I’ve found myself settling into the new house quite easily. I remember, five years ago, when I left the house I was living in at the time, that I realised very quickly that I’d made a mistake, and I sobbed and sobbed for weeks. I really, actually grieved for that house, yet it was nowhere near as nice as the one I’ve just left behind.

This got me thinking about houses and homes. My latest book, New Doctor at Chestnut House, is all about home. Is home a place, or a person? When I wrote it, I wasn’t thinking about my own circumstances at all. At least, not consciously. Now, though, I wonder if,  at some level, I already knew the answer to that question.

You see, the house that I left five years ago was the last house where I had children living at home. By the time I moved out, they’d long gone. I had become an empty-nester. Since then, I’ve realised no house I’ve ever lived in has actually felt like home in the sense that I used to mean it. I miss my kids, is the top and bottom of it. Not that I could stand living with them again! 🙂 They’re all adults now, and have lives of their own. Some of them have children of their own. Frankly, it would drive me insane to have any of them under my roof permanently, as much as I love each and every one of them. No, I mean, I miss having them around when they were little. I miss being at the heart of a large, noisy, rather chaotic family. I miss being Mum. Obviously, I still am Mum, but it’s not the same, is it? Nowadays, when my kids say “Mum”, they’re usually rolling their eyes and shaking their heads in despair at something I’ve said or done – and they’re mostly looking down at me, as all but one of them is taller than me, and two of them are over six foot so it’s a bit of a stretch to clip them round the ear. (Not that I ever would, of course…)  Back then, my babies would be looking up at me, all wide-eyed and sweet, arms outstretched, often wanting a cuddle. *Sob*.

When I think of “home” I think of those evening meals around the table, the Christmas mornings, the noise, the sound of the front door opening and shutting so often that I wished I had a revolving door instead. I think of sibling squabbles, and endless Disney films, and toys all over the floor, and mountains of washing, and escaping to the loo just for a moment’s peace.

Going further back, I think of my childhood home. I remember my mum in the kitchen, making tea, and Dad in the garden, mowing the lawn or feeding the rabbits. I remember my little brother being very annoying and cheeky, and sitting on a packet of Digestive biscuits just so that no one else could eat them. I remember my sister deliberately dropping my Petite typewriter on the floor because I’d accidentally sat on her Tippy Tumbles doll and snapped the leg off. (Yeah, I remember, sis…)

Point is, that’s home. It’s not four walls and a roof. It’s not the wallpaper or paint you slap on the walls. It’s not the new furniture, or even having a lovely garden to sit out in. It’s the people – the people we love, and wouldn’t be without, however much they annoy us.

So I think that’s why I haven’t shed a tear for the last few houses I’ve lived in. My heart isn’t in a house – any house. It’s in my mum, and in the memory of my lovely dad, and in my brother and sister, and my husband, and my three sons, and my two daughters. It’s with all the people I’ve lived with and loved, and there it will stay, safe and secure, no matter where I go. How lucky am I?

Have a great week.

Sharon xxx 


This Post Has 11 Comments

  1. Ellie Gray Author

    Lovely post, Sharon and something I can completely relate to. I think you’re right – having moved more times than I would want to in the last ten years, I’ve also realised there are only one or two houses in our lives that we can truly call home. So excited for your future plan to give up the day job and become a full time writer 🙂

    1. sharon

      Thanks, Ellie. Fingers tightly crossed! 😊 xx

  2. suefortin

    This is such a lovely post. All mine are still at home and it can be hectic at times. Our first grandchild is due soon, so even more going on. But, as soon as one is away, we all go around saying it feels odd!

    Good luck with your new home and wishing you every success with your book too, Sharon.


    1. sharon

      Aw, your first grandchild! Congratulations! I used to long for the day it would just be me and the husband and lots of peace and quiet. I really regret that now and wish I’d made the most of every minute I spent with my kids when they were younger. Enjoy the chaos while you can xx

  3. Pat Posner

    What a lovely post. We moved 9 times in 15 years – we’ve been in our present home 30 years now. Memories come with you wherever you go and help you settle and make the new place your home. Having said that, I think my heart is very firmly in this home, I’d hate to move but if we ever have to… I’ll read your post again xx

    1. sharon

      Thank you, Pat. Thirty years is a long time. No wonder you’re so attached. The longest I’ve lived anywhere is sixteen years. Unless I strike it rich and can buy my dream home in the Dales, I hope to be staying here a good many years. X

  4. rambleygirl

    I love this post Sharon, it’s beautifully written and I can really relate. If/when we move from here to our dream cosy cottage by the sea (a few years ago I thought my ideal was a huge modern mansion – goes to show how much one changes) I will miss the happy memories of my girls’ childhood more than the house itself. And I am excited by the thought of making a home for just the two of us that’s ours from the start – with a spare room for the grandchildren to visit of course! (Not that I’m expecting grandchildren just yet; my girls need to live a bit more first!) x

    1. sharon

      Haha, yes give them a chance Liz! I’d read about the Empty Nest Syndrome and shrugged it off. No one was more surprised than me to discover how much I missed my kids with all their noise and mess. When It’s just the two of you, things change dramatically. The whole dynamic of our relationship altered. I guess that’s a whole new adventure! Xx

  5. Suzie Tullett

    I know exactly what you mean, Sharon. I miss having children at home too and the older I get, that feeling seems to grow. I cried for weeks when mine left to start their independent lives. Honestly, anything would set me off x

    1. sharon

      Aw, yes, I remember that feeling. When my youngest left, I used to walk past her bedroom and stare into it longingly. Sometimes, I’d go and sit on her bed and just look around and remember…I used to cry all the time. I can hear my children’s voices and see the expressions on their little faces even now, and I get a lump in my throat and wish I could go back, just for one day and see them all like that again. If I let myself think about it too much, I would cry even now, so I do sympathise. xx

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