Country songs tell the truth

"Who says you can't go home?" -Sugarland

"I thought if I could touch this place or feel it 
this brokenness inside me might start healing" -Miranda Lambert

I was raised on Erwin Farm, Lancaster, South Carolina. The same place my beloved Ma, along with Granddaddy Threatt, raised My Daddy. My family lived in the house where My Daddy was born. All of us - Ma, Momma, My Daddy, my sister Pam, and me. 

The house, a small mill house like most of the others in the area, was home to me even after moving to Columbia in 1974. Leaving Ma behind tore me apart. Granddaddy Threatt died in March of '64. I was born in October. Ma and I had been together ever since. I'd never known another place to call home. And Lord knows, I was scared of living without My Ma.

That little house holds so many memories. Christmas, Easter, family gatherings, watching "The Little Rascals,"  scary movies and "Hawaii Five-O," eating all the spring cherries before the birds could, making mud pies with my best friend Debbie - all these sweet memories were made at 106 East Grace Avenue. I'd not been back to the house since My Ma's death in 1986. That was until last Saturday.

I was riding with a friend who had an errand to care for in Lancaster. I asked her to pull into the driveway of my old house as we passed. She asked me if I wanted to see if I could walk around inside. I said I didn't. Then, she noticed the front door was open. I was walking to the door with tears filling my eyes before I knew what was happening. I couldn't stop myself.

It's 2011, but the yard and the house looked like they did in 1974. There was the huge oak tree right at the driveway. The beautiful hydrangeas on each side of the steps. Oh, and the steps! The bannisters of the porch! Nothing had changed. No. Really. The new owners hadn't upgraded them; only painted them. The tears were pouring at this realization. The same bannisters My Ma and I would push against to rock our chairs on the porch as we watched the folks leaving from their shifts at the mill.

When I reached the door, an elderly gentleman opened it and asked, "Can I help you, young lady?"

All I could manage to say was, "I grew up in this house!"

After taking a few breaths I was able to say my name, My Daddy's name, and My Ma's name, Jack remembered me. Jack is my cousin. A retired pastor who, along with this wife, Shirley, bought Ma's house. I was invited inside. Shirley apologized for the house not being tidy. I told her it was beautiful! And, it is.

Though I could plainly see the walls had been painted and the furniture was different, the TV was in the corner with its rabbit ears as it was in 1974. The black rotary phone was on the kitchen wall and My Ma's leather chair underneath it. My eyes saw 2011 then 1974, over and over.

It was a very short visit. I left the same way I came - crying. My feelings, however, were high as the clouds. I felt like I had spent the afternoon with my family in our home. It was the best feeling in the world.

You can go home. And if you ever feel broken, as I do since My Daddy's death July 11 of this year, going home can help begin your healing.