It shouldn’t have been a profound experience for me, but it was.  Reality has a way of suckering you in that gut like that.

In 2004 my dear mother passed away in the hospital.   We said our final farewells and made our way home. 

This was our family home.  The youngest of four boys, I had spent my entire life in that home.  It was my bedrock, my strength, my place of solace, and a place I knew I was always welcome.  It was home.  Until, that day…

As we rounded the corner and our house came into view, I was devastated. 

There was nothing.  None of the excitement that I had felt the millions of times I had come home before.  There was nothing.  No bedrock, no strength, no solace, no welcome.  It was an empty husk that I felt nothing but indifference to.  Despite the intimate familiarity I had with its every room, every closet, and every corner, there was nothing left for me there.

I have wonderful memories with my family there, but everything great and wonderful that I had associated with that home, was my mother.  She made it great, accepting, warm, and caring.  I didn’t fully realize until that day that our house could have been a mansion, a shack, or even a tent, if my mother had been in it, it would have been home, and I would have felt excited every time I had a chance to visit.

Don’t focus on building your children the biggest, fanciest, or prettiest house.  Build them a home that is warm, welcoming, understanding, and a destination they’ll always be excited to come home to!