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Friday, October 12, 2012
Living in Model Home
Living in a Model Home
This place is no longer our home. It’s not the place where our kids grew
up. It’s not the place where we
celebrated many, many of life’s major events in our family’s existence. It just isn’t.
Everything is gorgeous.
Everything is pristine. Everything looks as if I’m waiting for HGTV to
come in and say-“You too can have a home like this.”, while taking a multitude
of pictures and videotape to put on-line in their “how to get this look”
section.
But what it isn’t is a home.
My home.
It’s hard to feel the same about this structure that I once
never wanted to leave. That I thought
I’d be watching our grandkids coming to visit in and grow up around. The kitchen I just wanted to enjoy and cook
elaborate meals for everyone to savor.
The bathrooms I worked so long and hard to make my own and
show my style and think “spa hour” for me, now have me thinking-“If I use the
whirlpool, how hard will it be for me to not only get out one-handed, but scrub
it clean before I leave for the next viewing?”
My precious hand-scraped new wood floors that had me living
in a nearby Residence Inn for 3 weeks will soon belong to someone else. Not for me to enjoy past the close of escrow.
The yard my kids ran around in and shot hoops around will be
someone else’s to take care of throughout the local water shortages. Our family run day care and pre-school that
was a major part of over 150 kids’ lives-all part of a past that will be but a
memory. The slope that we dug a hole in
and planted a pretend crypt for our cat Snowy’s toys will be lost to us
physically, in a matter of weeks.
Our shepherd Lucky and our lab mix Sunshine-will their
spirits stay here-or will they find us in New River, Arizona? Will we find it harder to remember all their
wonderful traits if we can’t look out into the yard they so lovingly protected?
Our children came here just as they turned 5 and 7. I still think of their bedrooms as spots I
love to be in. The chapter books I acted out and read to them until they were
almost 11-most kids would have not wanted this to continue so long-but it was
as fun for them as it was for me.
This is the home where my husband almost died, this is the
home where we had the honor of getting to know and live with our “adopted” son
and daughter (Alex and Samantha), and this is the home we were thrilled to come
back to no matter where we went for vacations.
Today, as I sit in my office-what I feel is a wish for it to
hopefully become someone else’s. My
favorite pictures are packed and have been replaced with floral arrangements,
big baskets and empty space. I feel as
if I’m intruding when I go to cook myself some dinner and I’m tired of sleeping
in a room that has only my clothes in the closet.
I’m finally more than ready to let go. This house is no longer mine and I really
want to go home.
