Mother didn’t always have a house. One of her life’s dream was to own her on home. Back in her day that was the thing to do. She worked and worked until she finally saved enough money to buy one. By the time she bought it, most of my 7 siblings were grown. We helped her save by giving her money when we worked. The house wasn’t a mansion but it was hers. Three bedrooms, 1 bath, a kitchen, living room, a utility room and a carport. And she had a big back yard where extra property allowed her to plant a garden. My mom could grow anything. There was something about her and plants that was so much like magic. I often wish I had gotten more of that knowledge from her. She would work as a dietitian 6-2, then come home and work in her garden. She also had flowers in the front yard. She enjoyed her house. Some of the siblings were in and out of residence from time to time. There was always a place to stay. Holidays at the house was traditional. She would cook all this food the night before and we would all show up. Sometimes my father would want to sample things.
Moma’s house held and still hold a lot of memories. As she grew older, she would sit on the front porch and watch the cars go by. When I bought a house down the street from her, I would drive by and blow my horn. Sometimes she would wave me down. I was the delegated caregiver. We went to appointments, grocery store, etc. Doctor appointments got to be a chore. I think she would get anxiety attacks sometimes and we would have to cancel. Anyway, I was familiar with that driveway for the next 30 plus years. When my father died, my sister and I cried every time we pulled into the driveway. I took mom to the store numerous times and helped her out of the car in that driveway. Moma’s driveway is still there and I am still pulling up to the house putting my sister out. I hope that moma’s house is there even after I am gone. I don’t know if it will hold any memories for whoever is left but I’ll always remember driving up that driveway and entering moma’s house.