There was something about this house that I never did like and subsequently, I have not felt at home in quite some time. Possibly it tied in with fleeing the previous place in hopes of forgetting the fizzling of my without merit marriage, but instead of coming into a safe, comfy place to hang my hat, it’s been more so just walls and a roof.
In the whopping nine months we inhabited this space, just like any other homestead, there have been highs and there have been lows. The highs have included falling fresh in love again, the ongoing celebration of my daughters’ health and the successful triumph of walking away from decades of alcohol abuse. Yes, some pretty high highs indeed.
But, alas, there would not be any highs but for the dreadful lows imbedded in our day to day existences. If I was to compile a mini list of these painful experiences whilst living in this abode, it would be short but wretched for those involved. With the highs of new love came, and quite unnecessarily, the loss of said love. As quick and quietly as it crept in and gave much, much joy it snuck out the back door into the night, like a thief with a blueprint.
And not necessarily second in order, has been the extreme lows I faced when staring down the bottle within these thin walls. The lies, the deception, the constant failure, the letting down of others and my deteriorating health.. was almost too much to bear.
And now, I feel as though there are more blessings than should be allowed that we are experiencing and its overwhelming to say the least. Over the past 48 hours, I have secured us a new place to stay and a lasting one, at that. It is a home that I am missing already and I’ve only seen it once. This is the place for me, the house that I love and am secure in and overjoyed to be in. The swimming pool and hot tub doesn’t hurt, either.
I brought home a crapload of boxes and totes today and though I hate the ritual that is moving, this time I look forward to it. Mama, I’m comin’ home (if Mama was the name of the new house).