You Can't Go Home Again

She had trouble finding the place. Of course, it had been 45 years since she had been there. She remembered it so clearly, though - the big tree ascending to the sky from the water surrounding its roots. It was there at the secondary entrance to the beach. Now a wooden fence blocked that entrance. No wonder she couldn't find it. She stepped onto a stump to look over the fence. Where the old tree once stood, there was only water. There wasn't even any beach - just lake. She was taken aback and then realized the stump she was standing on was that very tree. The feeling of disappointment was oddly profound. What did she expect?

When she turned 60 and retired, she bought the little cottage in the quaint town where she had spent her summers with her family as a child. She remembered those times fondly. It was only a block to the beach and two or three to the shops, and they would visit both every day. At least the cottage was still there. Across the street, where there was once only fields, there was a new housing development. Okay, not really new. She guessed it was about 30 years old.

She had had no idea that her mother was so sick. She also didn't know her mother had squirreled away $20000 for her inheritance. Maybe if she had paid more attention. She fumbled with the keys to her cottage. It used to be painted black with a black and white striped awning. Now it was white and the awning had been removed during a renovation. She went inside. It was completely different. It was modern and functional - nothing like the rustic camp cabin it had been. She started to cry. What did she expect? It had been 45 years.

She looked around trying to find anything familiar: the window that once held a cat; the two bedrooms off to the side that were barely big enough for a double bed; the big screened-in porch where she had once listened to Michael Jackson and Donny Osmond. Nothing was the same. Everything was new. The renovation was beautifully done, but nothing was as she remembered. She sat down at what had once been the picnic table that defined the dining room. Now she was just sitting on the floor. She took out her little black notebook from her purse and started to write.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't make enough time for you. I was always too rushed to just sit and have a cup of tea. I'm sorry I didn't take care of you the way I should have. I ran errands for you, but never really took the time to just be there for you. You were lonely but I left you alone. I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter. Please forgive me. I miss you and I would give anything to be able to make it up to you.

It got to be too dark to write anymore. She felt a little better letting her emotions splash out onto the paper. She headed down the street to buy a lamp at the hardware store. She passed the bakery she used to visit with her father which was now a clothing store, and the Bingo Hall where her grandmother won $40 which was now a restaurant. Through the windows she could see a young family having dinner. The young daughter had her face pressed up against the window, She smiled and waved. The little girl smiled back and shyly went back to her table. She saw other families on their way back from the beach. Children laughing, frazzled parents carrying sleeping babies, all making their own summer memories. She smiled remembering the good times, even though she was sad that they were gone. Life goes on. What did she expect?