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At Home Without a Home

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This poem recalls a time when Ruth and I, and our two sons , one who was 1 1/2 years old, the other 1 month old were homeless. My position as a music educator had been cut, Ruth had let her nurses license lapse. Without a home and without money, our little family lived with my folks and Ruth's folks for about 6 months as I was looking for another job. Everything we owned was stored in a semi-trailer parked on the farm of Ruth's parents. I have been blessed to be married to a most remarkable woman. I have always considered myself a student sitting at her feet and learning how to love. The picture, below, is of Ruthie during this homeless time in our life together.

 

 

The semi-trailer sits at the farm, a gift from your dad, holding everything we own, except some of our clothes, and that of our sons, and Pampers. Homeless, my pride beaten down, humility or is it humiliation, it’s master. Your pride is not a self-consuming passion, the first of an ever-growing realization that I’m not the educator of our family but a merely a student learning at your feet. Your pride is measured in our sons, in our marriage, our homelessness not a defeat, but a mere fact. Your own family’s past, family falling upon family during times of difficulty and duress, defines what is important. Shuffling between families’ homes an inconvenience of love, not acts of desperation. As long as we and our sons are together no longer is home narrowly defined to structures above or below ground, but only defined by relationship. You are at home in our homelessness. (c) 2012, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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Date: 2/14/2020 8:39:00 AM
I like the soul of the write... Blessed with Ruth...never homeless...
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Book: Shattered Sighs