Originally posted on Dec. 22, 2011
Tomorrow marks the anniversary of when I closed on my home. Eight years, and this is going to be the last Christmas I get to spend in it. Try as I might I was not able to do what I promised this big old house I would do… keep it, and fill it with love. Life got in the way, bad things happened, I was not able to protect it from foreclosure… even though I tried. It is so frustrating and defeating to sit here now and try to not let all of my emotions drown me at once.
So, here I set, putting up my Christmas tree way to close to Christmas, just because I want this to still feel like my home. Words cannot describe how heart breaking and devastating this all is. In less than a week, someone else has the opportunity to buy my home. Someone else can enjoy the new furnace, all of the flowers I planted through these years, the brand new roof and gutters, all of the hard work and love I put into everything that I created here.
Here. My Home.
This house, with all of my memories of the last eight years. All of the laughter, the gatherings, the comfort and joy that it brought not only to me, but also to others. A safe haven, a place to hide, a place to cry, laugh and breathe. This house, with all of its flaws, reflecting the person that I am, or strive to be. It is as broken as I am, and damnit if I do not love it just the same and want so desperately to live here for another eight years. The kitchen with all of its bareness reflecting the heart of me, as raw and damaged as I am, yet still serving a purpose of gathering and relationship, the only way a kitchen (or a heart) really can.
The broken down and now missing front door, reflecting to the world a shattered soul. Screaming out that not all cruel can be locked out, not out of a home, and not out of a person. The drafty old windows that let so much light in, to help all of my plants, and my being, heal and grow. The old walls that may be covered with some tattered wallpaper, yet still are able to reflect a strength and grace that only a good foundation can provide. The hard wood floors that are buried beneath old 70s carpet, proving that if one takes the time to discover beauty, it is always found.
I had envisioned, when I bought this house, a place for my friends to stay whenever they needed, a place to start my own family, a house where people would just “drop” by. A home, my home, a place for everyone. I am riddled with guilt, and shame. I am left with all of these thoughts of “what if I would have done this differently”, “what if THIS hadn’t happened”, what if I, myself, would not have broken last January? Would I still be living in the delusion that putting up a Christmas tree less than a week from the end of my home ownership is a sane act? Or, would I have already decorated for Christmas, and be stronger and better than I am now? Because fuck if I do not feel weak, and alone, and fucking scared.
I have lost so many things this past year, a husband, a promising relationship, my job, my sanity, my car, and now my home. I am empty. I have nothing to show for all of the heartbreak this year has given me, or that I invited in. I feel as if I am holding on to a dream that was never meant to be mine. As if the fates are saying “why in the hell would YOU think you could keep a home, have a family, who the fuck do You think you are?” I used to be able to answer that question with confidence, but now all of my strength has been washed away.
How does one start completely over? COMPLETELY over? Where do I even begin… Where does one begin when they do not even want a new start? I want my home. I want to not be awake at all hours of the night worried about how long I have to pack an entire house filled with memories. I want reprieve from the worry. I do not want to have to put any more consideration into where I am going to live, or if they accept pets.
But for now I am going to finish decorating for this Christmas.