‘Going home,’ I said.
But what does ‘going home’ mean? It seems a phrase full of possible meanings.
‘We’re going home’, was what the hero would declare at the end of films in boyhood days, before the credits began to roll on the black and white television screen.
There would be a shot of weary but victorious men heading back to wives and families.
‘You’re going home’, is a word of reassurance, a statement that all will be well, that there is no need to worry, that others will now deal with whatever must be done.
The thought of going home brings thoughts of security, of rest, of problems resolved, of petty annoyances being set aside. Going home is a thought to bring a moment of peace.
But where is home? Is it perhaps the place in which we spent our childhood years? But what if everyone we knew has long since gone? Is it the place where we have lived for most of our life?
What if we have moved house frequently, with long distances between each place? Is it the place where we find our family?
What if our loved ones are scattered across various locations, perhaps even in different countries?
‘Home is where the heart is’ was often heard growing up in Finglas. What did it mean? Your heart might be in many places, or in no place at all, did that mean you had many homes, or no home at all? It did not really make sense, even in those times.
Short of making the final journey, what does ‘going home’ mean when there is no place we might call home?
Is ‘home’ an aspiration? Is it hoping for the sort of place where people might gather in Christmas movies?
Is it a collection of images that includes barbecues on summer evenings, and well- kept gardens, and kindly neighbours, and close knit communities, and family members coming back on surprise visits? One can hardly conjure such a home from nothing.
Perhaps, for those of us who have lived far away fron their first home, ‘home’ is like retirement, something that will only be recognized when we arrive there.
