My parents had eight children - four boys and four girls. Following the natural cycle of life, we all grew up and developed lives of our own. For the females, that meant most of us migrated to other parts of the country. Throughout our exodus from home, there were times when we each developed a tremendous yearning to be home. Sometimes we couldn't quite identify what was wrong in our lives. We would call one another and talk at length about feeling uncomfortable, down, disconnected or dissatisfied. Frequently, we couldn't put our finger on exactly what was wrong. Then one of us would say something like, "I've been thinking a lot about Mama and Daddy lately." At that point we would laugh and remind ourselves that all we really needed was to go back to where we could regain our strength, reclaim our identity, and refocus our lives. We needed to go home. Along the way we began to understand the importance of having a home to which we could return. One day during one of our sisterly chats, I dubbed our home "Tara". I reminded my sisters that Scarlett (of "Gone With The Wind" fame) had epitomized the struggle to return to the life-sustaining strength that was present in and at Tara. So, over the years, we began to refer to our journeys home as "going back to Tara". With that one statement, we each understood the need that existed and the healing that awaited us.

Last year, I returned to Tara for good. My decision, like Scarlett's, was prompted by events that changed forever the appearance and flavor of home. My return resulted from a violent wrenching from what I had hoped would be a comfortable and enjoyable married life. When that dream dissipated, my immediate reaction was to return to Tara to heal and to reflect on what had gone wrong and what would happen next. But, alas, Tara itself had changed. Our father, a true patriarch in every sense of the word, had died five years earlier. Our mother, who was left alone now for the first time in 58 years (52 married years preceded by 6 years of courting), vaguely resembled the strong, self-assured woman I had known all my life. Now, it seems, I needed to characterize Tara for her. Love left no other choice but to rise to the challenge.

The past year has been one of extremely deep, sometimes excruciatingly painful reflection. The new Tara has made demands on me for which I felt completely unprepared. My mother is a very healthy and independent woman with minimal vocalized requirements. Despite that statement, I can truly attest that the psychological and emotional responsibilities I feel have sometimes been overwhelming for me. It has taken many, many months to work through the intricacies of re-establishing a relationship that works for both of us and for each of us. Each of us has learned to make some territorial concessions. If I am the designated cook for the day, my mother now stays out of the kitchen. If my mother wants to use a fan instead of the air conditioning in 98-degree weather, I transport my hot flashes and my other menopausal idiosyncrasies upstairs to my room, turn on my room air conditioner and suck on glasses of ice until times get better. We have undergone tremendous shifting, readjusting and refining of our roles. But somehow, it all works out.

It hasn't been easy and I know there will be times when it will seem impossible. In the midst of those difficult times, however, I hope I remember why I returned to Tara. Because, the odd thing is, even with all the changes that have occurred, Tara is still home. And the healing is still here. And the blessing of spending this precious time with my mother far outweighs any small inconveniences or sacrifices I might have to make.

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