What makes a home are the people in it. Without them, it is just a house.
It feels weird being in my family’s home without them. The lack of their presence is surprisingly loud. The refrigerator seems to hum louder, the furniture just a bit out of place, and the lack of other people’s things makes it seem messier?
My dad’s grass-stained sneakers aren’t at the back door, begging for my mom to yell at him to put them away. No delicious aroma radiated from the kitchen where my parents should have been making dinner, and there was no clanking of dishes and silverware as we filled up the dishwasher.
The clamor of people moving about and continuing life as it always has been is mundane in the moment, but so special when it’s gone.
I’ll be with my family again tomorrow night, but in the meantime I’m going to try to embrace the unwelcome quiet.