When We Were Young by Belle Calhoune

Recently I've been suffering from nostalgia. I find myself yearning to go back in time and relive

certain portions of my childhood. It always seems to me that those times were far less complicated,

and as a child, I was able to view everything through rose-colored glasses.




I grew up in a small suburban town about ten miles outside of Boston, Massachusetts. I had a really

great childhood. One of five kids, my parents were devoted to anything and everything that

enriched the lives of their children. The grand three-story home we lived in was located directly

across from a  public library. It's no small wonder I became an author since I was always across the

street with my nose in a book. Our house was always a bustling place--lots of laughter and chatter

and debates.

Since my mother was a doctor and my father was a biologist, there was also a lot of scientific

discussions.  Those were never my favorite but I learned a lot.

Summers were spent at our summer house in Cape Cod where we would swim, sit in the sun

(suntan lotion wasn't a big thing back in the 70s), catch crabs and boil the occasional lobster.

We had a favorite place to drive to for ice cream once the sun went down. Four Seas Ice Cream.

I remember my father always ordered the Pistachio while my mother loved the sherbert.

One of my funniest memories is when a lobster escaped the pot and my mother screamed

the kitchen down until my father rescued her. Sadly the lobster was eaten and his escape was short-

lived.

I think a lot of this is tied up in missing my mother who passed away in 2000. Sometimes

we think we're past the grief, but then unexpectedly it rises up again and plunges you into yet

another stage of mourning someone you love.

I miss the sound of my mother's voice and the tinkling of her laughter. I miss being mothered

by her.

I miss her tiny wrists and her wisdom. I miss her being only a phone call away.

I miss my father calling her  Anne. I imagine I'll never stop missing these things.

My dad is going to be selling the house I grew up in. It's really too large for him and he's

held onto it for far too long. Although I know this in my head, my heart is already mourning

the loss of my childhood home.  So many beautiful memories were made within those walls.

The winds of change. The permanence of grief.

It all makes sense to me as I ponder the way I've been feeling lately. Memories transport us back in

time to a place where the ones we've lost are still present. They are comforting and tie us to

our past.