Coming Home

Coming Home

She had only stepped away for a moment. And then another. Until the moments added up to a week. There were no routines left. They lay scattered throughout her home. She crumpled on the faded carpet of her tiny apartment. Her suitcase in the corner, still unpacked, Chelsea eyed it. Her weeklong life had been so organized, so simple. Here she was back in a much longer life. Responsibilities of career and community. But they were not the responsibilities that weighed heavy. She was responsible for herself, for her bills, for her health care - for the groceries. For cleaning….… Sometimes it felt way too heavy. Except on the days when she painted. 

Chelsea knew she would never be a great artist, but she was not too bad. She really didn’t want to be famous anyway. It was just the sweep of the brush, just a touch of colour, or a broad swath. Creating landscapes that only came from inside her heart. She had missed the smell and feel of her paints, missed wearing her paint dabbed shirts and coveralls. She had missed wrapping her hair up in brightly colour scarves to keep her hair out of her paintings. Chelsea straightened up, stood up and looked around her home. On the walls were paintings that she had done. Forever changing on a whim. That one above the dining room table actually had three - or was it four - paintings on one canvas. Cheaper and saved space. 

It was easy for Chelsea to be kind to others - that was her job. Seeing families coming into the social welfare office with just one small suitcase for four people, old men with nothing but the clothes on their back, teenagers that once thought life on the street was cool and now it was just cold. Being kind to herself was another issue. She tended to leave them behind in the bottom drawer of her desk. Sometimes she packed kindness in her suitcase and took it on holiday.

Chelsea walked over, picked up the suitcase and lay it on the coffee table. The zip stuck for a bit, but with some determined ‘holding her mouth right’ she laid her suitcase open. Everything had all seemed so neat and tidy as long as the suitcase was closed. Now the week of irresponsibility spilled out and she had to clean it up. It was mostly just laundry and putting toiletries away. There were a couple of brochures that seemed important at the time, but now were just for the recycling. Hmmm. Chelsea knew she had a bunch of old brochures waiting for something. Although…..maybe a collage? Putting the kettle on for tea, she started up the goodness of her home life again.

“We are all children coming inside from 

recess with varying degrees of dirt on us.”

~ Shannon L. Alder