Saturday, September 11, 2010
The house I grew up in wasn't very large or fancy. Sometimes I was embarrassed to bring friends over to my home, but sometimes I chose to stay home instead of going to parties with my friends, simply because I enjoyed my space. I guess you could call it a love/hate relationship.
My sister, Jen, called me this morning to tell me that while my mother was visiting me in Madison for a week, a water main had broken in our childhood home, destroying most of our house.
Jen and I don't live there anymore (she lives in Philly and I live in Wisconsin) and as crazy as my mother can make us, we still want to know that she is safe and comfortable in Pennsylvania. Luckily everything was insured so it will all be replaced, but the bad news is that we've lost pieces of our family history.
Family photo's, baby pictures, heirloom furniture... Things that can't be replaced.
It certainly is a tragedy, and I feel horribly that I can't go back to Pennsylvania to help, but it could have been worse. I feel like it might be a blessing in disguise.
"While we might say, 'I love my house' or 'I have strong feelings of affection for this place,' we cannot say, 'I have compassion' for these things. Having no feelings themselves, we cannot empathize with objects. We cannot, therefore, speak of having compassion for them. " -- The Dalai Lama