I am reminded of an old Dr. Phil program where he accurately stated that for a woman, the house is their nest and when that nest becomes threatened, the woman really struggles. I get it.
After nearly 10 years of living with my husband’s injuries and a resulting personal injury lawsuit that went nowhere, coupled with thousands and thousands of dollars of medical bills for my issues with Levaquin toxicity, Hashimotos disease and Late stage Lyme disease, the handwriting is on the wall. It is difficult to be sick and still earn a living–something has to suffer, and for us, the primary target was the bank account.
While we adore our home, our beautiful yard and the best neighbors in the universe, financially, we can no longer live here. As we recently came to the conclusion to put our home on the market next month, a smattering of memories flooded my mind, morphing into tears. So many reminders of children graduating high school, my son riding a bike for the first time, first dates, driver’s licenses, grandchildren crawling and walking in our yard, gardens that occasionally bore vegetables, parties and cook-outs with friends . This was supposed to be our forever home–the home in which we would grow old together.
It is just a house, some might say–but it is more than a house to us. If the walls could talk, they would tell you that my husband and I often crank up the rock and roll and dance in the dining room, or that my piano playing echoes to every corner of our home, or that laughter happens often and that love lives here. The walls will tell you that one of my sons and I have a ball assembling jigsaw puzzles all winter long, right on the dining room table. It is also the place where another son came back to us after being away for a while….it was a joyous time. The walls remind me of the day I received a phone call from Flight for Life, letting me know they airlifted my eldest son to Children’s Hospital after he wrapped his car around a telephone pole–and, after falling to the floor in tears, the sweet voice of the doctor telling me that my son was just fine.
If the walls could talk, they would tell you that many tears have been shed over these upcoming changes. We will miss it here. We will miss the way the birds greet us in the morning with their beautiful songs. We will miss our little feral cat who adopted us a few years ago, waiting on our porch each morning for her snack. We will miss our generous neighbors who watch our dog when we are gone and let him in the house when we forget. We will miss our son who will be getting married soon and our grandchildren who live nearby. We will miss the dear friends we have acquired these past 13 + years and know that no one will ever take their places. We will miss our church and the beautiful example our priest demonstrates to live a better life. We will miss so much!
It is difficult to comprehend the changes that will take place when we finally turn the keys over to a new family and move across the country. I don’t know that anyone can prepare for it. I do know that whoever lives here will feel the pulse within the walls–it is such a welcoming place, filled with love and memories.
While we prepare to purge our belongings, we are beginning to search for a new, much smaller place to call home…and hopefully, we can make great memories there–so great, that the walls will want to shout their gladness!
There will be more to tell soon, but for now–visit our home through this website–you can feel it, can’t you? Love lives here.
We have made a few changes in the place since these photos were taken, but…you get the gist.