“It’s just a house”, Sid reminds me.
People make a place a home, not the walls or windows.
Yet these walls provided shelter, these windows light.
As the boxes are packed and a new house takes shape, I am reminded of the blessings of the place we leave behind.
A house that had been purchased to raise a family of five.
It rather quickly became a shelter for four.
Straddling the world of what was and what is, a daily, tangible reminder of possibility.
I could raise these girls here.
I could pay the mortgage, change the air filter, mulch the beds, clean the house and still dance in the kitchen.
Late nights spent sitting on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, holding back little girls hair as sickness overwhelmed them. I could parent alone.
Days listening to the sounds of laughter as my children played with their neighborhood friends. I could find joy in the moments of my day.
Evenings, after girls were tucked safely in bed, when a knock on the door meant a visit from my own dear neighborhood friend. A chance to connect over a glass of wine and the knowledge that I was safe. I could share my fears wrapped in the cocoon of this house with those who sought the best for me.
On February 23 we will say good bye to what was.
A new world of possibility exsists in a place where a family of eight will take up residence.
He and I will now do this together.