debris of a home, long forgotten

'Happy family' is a concept I have only heard within stories. No matter how happy a family seemed like, there was always a missing piece. Even reasons I have never understood. 

Maybe because I was just a child. 

"Ohana means family. Family means that no one gets left behind or gets forgotten", so said Stitch. And you.

I saw you draw rectangles and squares often, explaining to me that they were living spaces and together they make a home. It sparked my childlike curiosity and before long I gained interest in drawing houses of different scales.

At age eight, when I asked what a perfect home is like, you said "My love, a perfect home can only be found within the heart of your beloved. It might be small and messy but full of warmth and love."

I wish I had realized then that the solemn look on your face meant more than the depth of your words.

Because then I wouldn't have these questions: Did you not feel our love at all? Or did we not have a place in your heart— your perfect home?

Was my mother's love not enough for you?

But then how would you even know? When was the last time you returned to this empty shell of what it used to be?

Every weekend, she washes the clothes you left behind, fold them and put it back in. There are nights I have found her sobbing into one of them as if your scent still lingers on it and would lull her to sleep.

Did you know I still wait for you?

All this while I waited for you to wander back to us one day. Until I saw you cradling the six year old that jumped in your arms and you laughed with mirth I never saw on my father.

My perfect home was never yours.