It seems like we never really go home until something significant happens. We visit, but we don’t go home. Recently, I received a phone call that my mother had been hospitalized. I go visit my parents fairly often, but usually I’m in and out and don’t have time to see many people or hang out. Going to the hospital in a small town forces you to slow down and just “hang out”. The hospital employees are either people that went to school with me or are the children of my classmates. The hospital in my hometown is a small 25 bed hospital. Often the census is less than 5 when I visit.
Walking toward the front door of the hospital with pecan shells crunching underneath my feet brings back a surge of memories. The pecans which have fallen from the ages old pecan trees overhead litter the sidewalk.
It seems like eons ago that I used to work at this hospital. My office was just behind that window to the right. My son was delivered down the hall to left. Many of my nieces and nephews also made their debut within these walls.
The number of times I entered through the emergency room with my accident prone son is innumerable.
I haven’t lived here in over 20 years. Now I live in a city large enough that running into someone you know at the supermarket is the exception so coming home it’s hard to get used to knowing everyone you run into anywhere you go!
Every nurse, every custodian or kitchen worker seemed to know my name or at least know who my parents are and that I am one of those “Greenway kids”.
I sometimes wish my parents lived in a larger city where they could receive the latest and best medical care. But when I see the personal care they receive here, I think that the benefits gained from the good will in this little town far surpasses any medical advances that may be available in a bigger hospital.
Walking into restaurants, grocery stores or hospital halls, it seems that everyone in town knows my mother is in the hospital and everyone is concerned. People I haven’t seen in 20 years call me by name. Many more remembered me than I was able to remember them. I guess it’s really true, home is where everybody knows your name, and that’s a good thing!
Although I moved from my hometown years ago, I still own my family home. My hometown is a small North Texas town of about 3000 people. We usually return home for Christmas and an occasional visit throughout the year. Each time we arrive, the house needs a thorough cleaning to remove the accumulation of dust. The house is a small farm style house which was built in the 1950’s. It sits atop a hill on the edge of town on about a ½ acre of land.
Nana's Apron Strings 