The Life of this House

Some of you may already know but for the sake of those that don't, our house is for sale. The sign went up 10 days ago. We have struggled with our desire to leave the state and the reality of our lives being here for so long. Finally, we did what the RGH and I rarely do, we took a risk. And here we are...with a sign in our yard and strangers traipsing through our home at the drop of a hat.

I have to admit that this is unsettling. The people that come into this house do not know it has a life. They do not know it has the power to heal the worst grief imaginable. They do not know it makes children laugh and gives comfort when they cry. They do not know that the greatest of loves grows in it's rooms. They do not know how it lives and breaths and nurtures those who take shelter here. They do not know.

We bought this house in January 2001. My mother had just died suddenly that October. My father passed a week after we entered escrow. We hadn't planned on buying a new house. But I saw it and in my grief it said something to me. It said come. I told the RGH it was my house. And in his wisdom, somehow he knew he must do what I asked. And the house became ours on February 18th.

We still had A and her little Jacob with us then. T had just left for College. With the deaths of both my parents, I was not able to function the way I normally would. The RGH even took me to Hawaii that March, hoping to make it better. It could not. I spent our trip watching the whales as they migrated in the warm waters. It was all I could focus on until we came home.

The house gave me a purpose. When a house is new, it takes time to make it right. You must try things in different places, hang pictures, plant flowers, organize cupboards. You must make it your home. That was what kept me from losing my mind as I grieved for my parents. 

And then, September 11th happened. And the grieving began again but the house was there. It kept us safe. It became the refuge for my deepest depression. It held what was most precious to me, my family; my life. Hope somehow lived in all the rooms.

As it always does, time passes and heals as well. But the house continued to give. When A finally met someone she could love and would love her and her son in return, we harbored him as well. He suffered a serious accident at work and had no one to care for him. He came to this house and here he got well. And in this house, he promised us he would love our daughter and our grandson and care for them for the rest of his life.

The RGH lost his father in July of 2003, just two months after A's wedding. The nest was empty and the Patriarch was gone. The haven kept us together. It was our place to be what we were, sad. And the house held on to our sadness until we were ready to let it go. To move on. To have our holidays and birthdays and live our lives and miss those we lost without falling apart.

You see, this house has powers.

Even the occupants that are left have seen the power of this house. We were not one when we came here. We were two, battling for control. Two, fighting to be individuals. Not a happy couple, just a functioning pair. The house changed that. In this house, we learned that we cannot be a happy couple when we each want control. The house tamed us. 

Somehow in this house, we learned to work as one. We learned to see the strengths we have individually are together the whole that guards us. In this house we became a team, who understands that both members have important things to contribute to the relationship. Before we came to this house, we didn't know that.

This house has powers.

Every room, every corner, every nook, and every door has a story. Our part of the story has to end soon. I will be sad to leave this house that has brought us so far. But I know this house will harbor another family and they too, will learn the secret of this house.

It has a life. This house has powers.