House on Horsham

I am house-sitting this week, not far from my childhood home in north Toronto. I still remember the day we moved into the house on Horsham, even though I was only two. I vividly recall crawling down the stairs to the basement, investigating all the nooks and crannys, and where I would play for years, with my toy soldiers, paper airplanes and a slinky or two. I also remember the final day, with the moving truck full of my familys' memories, walking through the empty rooms, tears in my eyes. That was in 1984, and I was 23 years old. I had just lost my best friend, my mom, earlier that year to cancer, just a year and a half after my dad had succumbed to the same unforgiving disease.... It's amazing how a safe, warm home can become so empty, so cold, so fast. Looking back, 23 is far too young to bury ones' parents, and to sell a family home. Not sure how I got through it, but I do thank god for my brother, my relatives, and my friends.

I've written much about identity in this blog, and my identity back then was of a poor guy who lost his parents way too soon. Of a momma's boy with no momma. And while it was quite true, I did milk it for all it was worth. 'Poor me, poor me' was my credo, hell I'm surprised I didn't print up t-shirts (or maybe I did :-)). Yeah, this was a firm part of my identity for many years and I used it for sympathy, acceptance and support. It was a defence mechanism against the cold, harsh reality of life. And I wonder if I would've gotten through those years without it. Probably not.

Today, as a 45 year old, looking at my old house, I realize that my identity has changed. It has changed quite dramatically. I no longer feel like that poor guy who lost his parents. In fact, I no longer feel sad about losing my parents. Rather, I'm filled with much pride and gratitude - I'm proud of my parents' legacy, of the sacrifices they made for me and my brother, of a million cherished memories on Horsham, and am proud of myself, a product of my parents' upbringing, of getting through those years with my head still intact.

It's true what they say - what doesn't kill you, does indeed make you stronger. It's just takes awhile.

And today, as I look at the old house on Horsham, I smile. It's all good. It's all damn good.