Sometimes I'm not going out. I'm coming in. Reactions can be "Ugh, I have GOT to clean this place before they film a Febreze commercial in here!" or "Ahhhh. Home." If someone is there to greet me the energy is different. If it's my husband we putter and do our separate things in companionable silence sometimes, or chatter about our days. Eventually we'll sit on the reclining couch to watch something (anything) on the TV and one or both of us will nod off to sleep half way through. If the boys are home they are coming or going with friends or without, but sometimes they actually stay put for a bit and talk to us and play a board game or share a meal. I memorize those moments, realizing that they, like the snow, are disappearing quickly. When I open the door and there is no answer to my call, the emptiness is always a disappointment. This is one of the reasons my house is not tidy. I hate being there alone for any length of time. Well, that and the fact that I don't like housework.
Then there's the Big Door at the end of our lives, the one through which we walk alone. Who knows what surprises lie beyond that door? I find that door is ajar sometimes. There are times when my heart drifts through to get a look at what's coming up. It stopped scaring me a long time ago, maybe because I have so many people I've loved who have joined my "Advance Team" and gone through first. Other times I swear I feel the presence of those wonderful friends and family members who "visit" at the most unpredictable times. I'll hear a song that I just KNOW is a message. A car will miss hitting me by two coats of paint and I know I'm being watched over. The connection is still there. The love doesn't disappear just because it can't be expressed in a hug at the moment. Any more than the world disappears when I close my front door.