Is a house a home when there's no one to welcome you?

Coming home to silence

Is a house a home when there’s no one to greet you, whether you’ve been to the store or on a long trip?

You could say a home is where you sleep, where you keep your things, or where you feel safe, whether it’s a house, an apartment, a mobile home, a tent, or anywhere else. But is that enough?

An old Luther Vandross song, A House Is Not a Home, says “a house is not a home when there’s no one there to hold you tight, when there’s no one there you can kiss good night.”

I have been coming home to an empty house for a long time, recently without even a dog, but it hit me this time when I came home from my three-week trip through the Southwest, and I didn’t like it. It didn’t feel like home. It was too big, too empty, too complicated, and there was no one there.

When you’re really home, shouldn’t there be someone to wrap you in a big hug, to help you carry your luggage in, to admire the things you bought, to look at your pictures, to sit around and talk about your trip, and to say, “I missed you”?

When my parents were alive and well, I had that at their house, the house where I grew up, whether I was coming home from school or from my adult homes in California and Oregon.

When my husband Fred was alive, and one of us traveled without the other, we had that at this house in South Beach.

Even a dog was someone to welcome me. The minute I opened the door, Annie and I were all over each other, me usually crying, so happy to be reunited. A dog can’t help with the luggage, but they’re always glad you’re home.

Things are different now. It was nice to stop driving, to not have to deal with other people for a while, and to have access to all of my things again, but I needed a hug and a “welcome home.”

I did get those things eventually from my neighbors and friends. Yesterday I was welcomed back to the Cafe Chill open mic, where I sang three new songs and rejoined the songwriting workshop.

As one of our exercises, we were asked to share a meaningful experience. I talked about my time in Los Angeles. They were looking for potential song lyrics, but I was dying to tell someone about my trip, not in carefully shaped and edited posts online but person to person, exchanging travel stories, laughing, sympathizing, and sharing advice.

I brought home so many stories, keepsakes, and photographs. Having traveled alone, I can’t say, “Remember the Saguaro forest?” “Remember when the Uber driver didn’t show up?” “Remember that great dinner in Santa Fe?” No. I’m the only one who remembers.

When I was a kid, my parents would send home movies or slides to the store to be processed. When they came back, we would gather in the living room, pull down the shades, and settle in for a show, sharing our vacation memories together. I miss that. A social media post on which friends click “like” or “love” is not the same. In a day, it’s forgotten.

Of course, we all remember being subjected to someone else’s incredibly boring slide shows, but when you were on that trip together, it’s a whole other thing.

Now, sitting in my house alone, I feel the emptiness more, and I have this big need to end it by making drastic changes in my life. I do plan to get a dog very soon, but that’s not the same as having people around.

Sometimes I just want to be left alone, but other times, I want to come home to a person who loves me, male or female, any age, someone who says, “You must be tired. Let me fix you something to eat or I can take you out to dinner. I want to hear all about your trip.”

It's not just older people who come home to empty places. Younger folks living on their own, people who are divorced, separated, or widowed, or those who never married or had children all know that empty house feeling.

After my first marriage ended, I lived alone in an apartment in Pacifica. I was 28. Part of me was thrilled to have my own space for the first time in my life. I was fine while I was working my reporter job at the Pacifica Tribune or singing with friends. But when I was at my apartment with nothing on the schedule, I had a hard time, and I did some stupid things trying to comfort myself. Many years later, I’m coming home alone again, older and wiser but still missing that welcome home hug.

Enough whining. I am glad to talk to the robins, roosters, rabbits, and neighborhood dogs. I’m excited to watch my rhododendron fill with hot pink flowers while the trillium flowers turn from white to pink to purple. It’s finally warm enough to sit in the sun.

A little while ago, a handsome white-haired Jehovah’s Witness rang my doorbell and read me a Bible verse assuring me that all will be well when Jesus comes again. It was sunny, and he was nice.

I know I’m not really alone in the world, but I am alone in my house. Which brings back the question: What makes a house a home?

What can we do to counteract the coming-home-to-an-empty-house syndrome? A few thoughts:

• Arrange to call, text or meet with someone when you arrive.

• Pre-plan a dinner date with a friend.

• Call everyone you know to tell them about your trip. Maybe lots of people.

• Go door to door, announcing, “I’m home!”

• Get a dog, cat, parrot, hamster, llama . . .

• Pretend you’re still on the road, except with much bigger lodgings and the freedom to wear pajamas all day if you want to.

Researching “what makes a house a home” brought me far too many decorating tips. The closest I came to something helpful was this article at Oprah Daily: “What Makes a House a Home? Designers, Authors, Celebs Weigh In” by Elena Nicolaou. The celebrities she interviewed cited family, being surrounded by their favorite things, and having a place where they can take off their bras and relax.

My favorite response was offered by Author Nina LaCour–"I see a house as a place to find shelter, to exist within. But I see a home as an opportunity to be unapologetically yourself. A little refuge full of only who and what you choose—objects that bring you a sense of calm or inspiration or joy, people you love, whether they live there or just come by to visit—a place where you belong."

Yes, but do we need other people to make it a home? What do you think? What makes a house feel like home?

---

I'm proud, embarrassed, grateful and all the feelings listening to this podcast at Jane Leder's "Older Women and Friends," in which I tell the stories behind my memoir No Way Out of This (www.simonandschuster.com/books/No-Way...). You can hear it here. podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/no-way-out-of-this-loving-a-partner-with-alzheimers-w-sue-lick/id1655008259?i=1000702936984...

---

This week at the Childless by Marriage blog, I talk about the constant need to explain to people why we don’t have children. Give it a read at https://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com.

---

One more thing: “Can I Do It Alone” is celebrating its one-year anniversary this month. We are up to 1,649 subscribers at this moment and still growing. Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and supporting what I write. Happy anniversary to us!

---