Home

Home is not a house. A house is the structure, a set of walls, windows and roof. It's not a home until you say it is or more importantly until you feel it is. They say there is a time for everything (a great song, a great bible verse often said at funerals, said at my husbands read lovingly by our daughter) there is a time for everything. I want home, and it's time to put in some roots to a place I can call my home. Time to stop living out of a hotel like environment. Time to be the heart of my own hearth so to speak. This is brand new and will be a little weird. I went from my father's house which was my first home, to friend's houses, to my husband's house to finally a home we called our own and raised our children in. But I have never lived in a place that was home just for me. When Terry died it was so important to me to keep our home, to prove I could care for it on my own, to keep the fires going, to wander around in the memories and feel him close. I proved that. I stayed two years until it became a hardship and the weariness of my then deep depression would not allow me to feel the memories anymore, just the empty rooms and the overwhelming demands and expectations of a huge house and yard. Our home became a house. I moved into an apartment, a nice place, but a place I knew from the start that I would not stay in long. Probably because of that it never felt like home, rather just a hotel, thank god for Pax's greeting at the door, the only live connection to the hotel.

About two months ago I knew it was time. Time to home myself. A concept that has so much more meaning than moving into a structure (even a beautiful structure like her- see above). Time to maybe, dare I say it, live again, embrace life and comfort thyself in a home. In other words stop faking it and start making it. I feel less like a ghost now, more like I can and want to live here on planet earth. So to me one of the most basic things in life is a place to call your own and lay your head at night, a place to feel totally you in and wrap around you like foreverness.  Feels good to be here. I have so much to be grateful for. This has been almost five years in the making and to me is one of the first real signs of moving on in this new life I am trying to make without Terry.  It is a step in the right direction too, not one where any outside influences are swaying or tearing at me. One I made all on my own, found on my own, bought on my own and will live in on my own. (with open doors to family and friends of course but you get my drift).

I being of sound mind and aging body chose this humble sweet perfect little abode to start living -(in)- again. And does it ever feel good. If I was to compare my move two years ago to this (and you know I have) I see a world of difference. The packing does not overwhelm me or cause major anxiety, there is no sadness, no grief, no angst- just joy and anticipation. I do not feel like a ghost floating through life in this new endevour, instead I feel my favorite friendly ghost alongside me, imagining what he'd have to say, and his voice is clearer than it's been in years and that feels damn good too. I'm gonna settle in without trepidation or hesitation, I will hearth my love into this sweet place and feel that most welcoming feeling of coming home once again.