Homebody – a person who likes to stay at home, especially one who is perceived as unadventurous (Oxford Language) – one whose life centers on home (Merriam-Webster).

These words accurately describe Chuck and me. When we got married in 1980, we were fortunate enough to purchase our first home together in Northeast Philadelphia. It was a 16’ airlight, red brick rowhome. We spent the months leading up to our wedding getting the house ready – cleaning, scraping, painting, breaking  down the chinchilla cage supports (that’s another story), and gathering furniture from friends and relatives to make the house our home. It didn’t matter to us that the only new furniture in the house was our bedroom set; I used to kid that our design style was the “early borrowed look.”

We loved that house and the memories we made there. We brought both of our children home from the hospital to this humble abode. Some of our best days were Saturdays when we were all home, watching WWE (WWF at the time), The Frugal Gourmet, or Professional Bowling in between chores. I would be folding laundry on the couch, and Chuck would most likely be washing and waxing the cars in the driveway out back.

Chuck was always ready to host family and friends for dinner, and he always made so much food that he could have fed a whole other set of people!  You could find us barbecuing out on the front patio or cooking up mussels and crabs with our neighbors, Mario and Sarah, for summer evening feasts.

After nine years in the city, we moved to the burbs to be closer to Chuck’s work and to get a backyard for the kids.  This time, we moved into a twin house with beige vinyl siding on a cul-de-sac with 16 homes. We were the youngest and newest residents in 1989. Over the next 36 years, our little twin played host to countless birthday celebrations, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas Eve Feasts of the Seven Fishes, and casual get-togethers.  Sometimes, I thought I felt our little house exhale after the last guest had gone home. Chuck and I loved every minute of having family and friends visit us.

Some may have considered us unadventurous, and maybe we were, but being home together was all we ever really needed. Our home was our sanctuary, the place where we could truly be ourselves and build memories, our safe haven. No matter where we went, whether we were out for the evening or on an overnight trip, the best part was always coming home.

Now that Chuck is gone from sight, his essence remains a part of our home.  When I look around, I can visualize him in the kitchen cooking, walking up the path after running errands, or watching sports on TV from his spot on the recliner. If I listen closely enough, the walls echo with the sound of his voice, his love, and laughter, and I never feel alone.  I miss him terribly, but every time I walk into the house, I feel his presence still surrounding me with his love, and I am happy to be home.