Taking me home

Have you ever thought you were doing really well, only to realize you actually weren’t? Grief does that. I’ve had a revelation this past week that brought me to my knees. I THOUGHT I was at peace. It’s been almost three years since I lost my husband unexpectedly. I felt like I had found a way to move forward and thought I was actually doing okay.

Twenty-five years ago, my son & I moved in with Joe. We married shortly thereafter. We lived in the same house our entire marriage. I loved that house. We made it a home. But his spirit filled every nook and cranny of that house. He rebuilt his vintage Mustang in the garage. Yes, the same garage where his coat was hanging. He turned the spare bedroom into an homage to John Force and the Pittsburgh Steelers. He built us an amazing backyard bar and had several outbuildings filled with things he liked to tinker with, things he saved just in case he needed them. He was always doing something. Working outside, listening to music, creating something or just drinking a beer and watching the dogs play. After he died, I couldn’t stand inside any of those buildings, and I couldn’t spend any time in the yard he loved or the bar he built. I made changes inside. I gave away all of his model cars, never watched football again, wallpapered my kitchen and bathrooms, had some minor repairs done, even bought new furniture. All the while telling myself this was how I could find peace in that house.

And I thought I had.

And then I decided to sell. I wanted to move closer to my son and son-in-law. I needed a change of scenery. I found the cutest little house in the sweetest neighborhood, just a mile from my boys. Joe must have been watching out for me because everything came together so quickly. I sold our house, bought the new one, and moved over the course of three weeks!

Last Sunday I woke up in my new home. I wandered through each room looking at the pictures on the wall, opening the closets and seeing my things hanging there. I made coffee and sat down on my new patio, took a deep breath, watched the hummingbirds feed and my dogs play in the yard. And it was at that moment that I felt completely at peace. Real peace. Not the peace I convinced myself I’d found at the other house. Maybe it was a defense mechanism before, telling myself I was okay. Maybe I was just trying to persuade myself that life could continue in a home that felt more like a mausoleum filled with my late husband at every turn.

Grief is such a thief. It steals everything from you including your peace. A friend who had lost her husband years ago was in a similar situation. She gave me some great advice. “Leave Joe at the old house but take the memories with you.” She was so right. His coat is gone and the house is empty. The day I moved, I got in my car to head to my new home. Our wedding song came on the radio and I cried all the way there. My Joe had a hand in all of this and I know he is so happy for me to start again in a place of my own.