Yesterday I received an email from my mother. It was short and to the point, 'We're moving home. Please phone. Mum', and left me rather confused. Not at the fact that ,my mother knows how to email (she's been doing it for years) or at the abruptness of the message (we're not close) but more at the realization that my childhood home had been sold, and my parents were moving out, all so much as without a by your leave, or 'Honey, we've been thinking about this for while.'
When I angrily phoned my Dad, he told me the contracts had just been exchanged that day, and that they weren't moving for a couple of months. I was left feeling childishly angry and sulky - but for no good reason. I haven't properly lived at home in years, and whilst I still have a bunch of stuff in storage there, I can't conceivably call it 'my house anymore, but whoops, didn't I just describe it as my home? This conundrum needs unraveling.
I think the difficulty here lies in the intricate nature of my relationship with my parents, and with the house. For good or bad the place that they reside is where I've spent the majority of my life, screaming, shouting, laughing, and as such the house has become more than bricks and mortar and is ensconced with memories. There's the room, where I first practiced kissing in the mirror, the garden where I used to spend hours on the Swingball, and the kitchen where I used to create mess on a daily basis.
Though I don't own it and have no fiscal relation to it, the house in some ways symbolizes everything that once was, and also offers the possibility of respite should everything go drastically wrong. I feel that my parents should have born this in mind, and if not consulted me on their impending move, at least forewarned me it was happening, if for no other reason than to stop me feeling totally excluded in their life.
Aha! It's starting to fit together now (in my curious long winded way). It's their life, and their dreams, and I'm still stuck in petulant child mode, where I feel it's all about me, and that somehow they shouldn't have any personal desires of their own. Clearly this is unfair, but it's a hard transition to make, and I'm still learning it. Recently roles seem to have been revered in my family, with my father canceling on me for dinner on a regular basis when it used to be the other way round, and meeting my mum nigh impossible as she has such a busy schedule. Have parents become the new kids?
They're old enough to pretty much afford anything (within reason) that they want, so why shouldn't they change house, buy a new car, or go somewhere nice on holiday? Though I may find it barmy that my Mum wants to move from a five bed to a six bedroom house when she only has two children living at home, who am I to gainsay her choice?
I guess the hard part is realizing that your parents are individuals in their own rights, and are as prone to impulses and stupid behaviour as we are. In some ways I liked to believe that my parents still harboured hope that one day I'd return to the nest, and their selling of my childhood home clearly reflects this is not the case. With parents one grows used to unconditional love and when this isn't replicated in other aspects of your life it can be hard. It's nice to think that they're the one thing that won't change in this uncertain world, and then terribly disconcerting when this proves not to be the case.
While I'd like them to stay in the same house, I suppose what really bother me is the lack of warning I was given about the change, and I suppose that speaks more about my relationship with them than it does about feelings of attachment to the house. Perhaps that's a lesson to be learnt, while love might be unconditional, everything else has to be earned, and I need to stop taking them for granted and prove myself worthy.