Sometimes a good day starts as any ordinary one. You wake up feeling tired, you feed the dog, you struggle with the kid to get him dressed, you go to work, you stop for groceries, you come back home; it's afternoon, but it feels like it should be bedtime. And as you are putting your bags on the kitchen counter, you hear a knock on the door and you go answer it to find the woman who grew up in your house on your front porch, her daughter standing beside her.
It is the eve of the woman's eightieth birthday, and she is wondering if it would be okay to come in. Of course, you say, of course, and you invite them in, and you show them around, and she says oh that’s where my grandparents used to sleep (now your son’s room), and this closet? That used to open into the dining room. And this used to be my bedroom (now your own), and this space right here is where we used to keep the Maytag on wheels - because they weren't built-in back then. And that towering oak tree in the front? That tree used to be the size of the dogwood growing next to it when I was a little girl. And this, she says, this is the house I brought my daughter home when she was born - now standing by her side, with a grown daughter of her own.
You’re told this house was always filled with laughter and happiness. This was always a happy house, she says. And she can tell you love the house as much as she did, and she is grateful, relieved. And your eyes fill with tears, happy tears, and you hug, and you think, man, I am so lucky. This is a good house, your house. This is home. This is a good day.
