My 1st marriage ended, after almost 17-years in 2014. I had concentrated on getting his credit fixed and we bought a home in 2013. I thought that was my forever home. I was wrong. The evil monster of betrayal reared its ugly head for the last time in my life, and I’d leave that house. I left because I bet on me. I thought that I was doing the best for my children, by keeping their dad stable, I thought that him having to start from scratch, would negatively impact my kids. Therefore, I bet on me being able to be just fine, and capable of making a home for us, no matter what. Oh, it was hard. I bounced from an apartment in a not-so-great part of town, to living in my sister’s basement. But in February of 2016, I bought MY house. 5473.
In the in-between, about a year after that first marriage ended, I met this very handsome and talented man that swept me off of my feet. Just kidding, my poor husband was so patient with me. I’m not the “swept off my feet” kind of woman. Eventually, we married, in February of 2017, and 5473 became OUR house.
Oh, this little 1300 square foot house with 1 bathroom. When all of our kids were home, we were a party of 6 in that little house. My husband and I modified the den into a 4th bedroom, but it was still a tight fit. Our home was the canvas on which we painted the years of our lives on, and they were some of the best years. Nerf gun fights, water balloon fights, slip and slides, those all riddled the backyard. We’d host our daughter’s engagement party in the back yard, feed all of our big kids before their high school graduations, host a meal for our nephew before he left to serve, we suffered through a kitchen remodel, and we painted the entire home. We’d (my husband) cooked on his grill (which he loved) and we had many a cocktail on our deck. We lived in that little house and made for ourselves a beautiful life. We’d daydream about welcoming our grandchildren in that home, together. We discussed plans to open up the living area, completely redoing the house, and finally adding that second bathroom. Our plans for our house were going to be our next adventure.
After he passed, I had to change where I slept.
I moved our makeshift bedroom to an actual bedroom and turned that area back into a den. Our big kids were all moved out, and it was me and the youngest at the time. Eventually, one of the bigs (not the married ones) moved back in with me, but if I’m honest, it just hasn’t felt like OUR house anymore.
I’ve been doing everything there, the line between the stuff he did, and what I did, (the delineation of duties if you will) was gone. Additionally, I was doing stuff we daydreamed about, like welcoming our grandkids, hosting Thanksgiving, playing in the yard, redoing our deck. Some of this was heartbreaking for me. Believe it or not, the more mundane like fixing the deck, kicked my butt. I cried all night once I saw it finished. He’d never sit with me out there. No matter how pretty I made it, he’d not be there. Rocking our grandkids to sleep, brings with it a melancholy longing because I know he’d be singing to them. All of it… it got to feel foreign to be in OUR house without him. But the youngest was honest with me, and he wasn’t ready for anything else to change. So, when he finally said he’d be open to a move, it was in February of this year, and it felt like some heavy weight sitting on my chest, had finally shifted. By April, we were all a little excited about maybe moving.
It’ll be 2 years since my husband passed on the 11th of August. And, after prayerfully wrestling with the idea of selling our home, I decided to do so in May. I figured that God would quickly shut the door if I was meant to remain in our home, I’d simply put my big girl panties on, and endure. Endure the daily heartbreak of living in OUR home without him. But, I was prepared to do that, after all, it’s been almost 2 years of wearing these “big girl panties.” I met with a realtor, and the home was listed on June 9th. By the end of the first weekend we had an offer, and I thought, “I have my answer”. I was crazy excited.
That first offer would fall through. I began to second guess everything. The longing to speak to my husband was palpable. He was always my level-headed voice of reason and I had to make these huge decisions and adjustments alone. But then, within 24-hours, our home was under-contract again. This time, to someone who resembled me back in 2016, and it felt right.
We’ll be leaving our laughter-filled 5473 next week. As I pack, I cry a little, and then I smile in excitement of what’s to come. My next home will be, “Abuela’s house” but I no longer think of houses like, “my forever home” because, this place is not my home. My HOME is in Heaven with my Jesus, and HE has had HIS hand on me this entire time.
The canvas on which I am painting my story will change soon. The backdrop will be different but the players remain the same, but forever changed.
My husband’s memory will forever be with me, it’s too big to be confined to just one address, and I would still bet on me, 100% of time. If God is for me…
Goodbye 5473, and thank you.