If you don't want to hear me whine, mewl, and rant about the universe, here's your chance to stop reading. But when I started this blog, I promised that I would be honest with the writing and be myself, warts and all. Here is one of those warts.
I'm tired of holding everything together for my family, my friends, and acquaintances. Just for today, I'm tired of being cheerful, hopeful, and optimistic. I'm tired of having to go into a smoky, cold, abandoned house to scavenge and inventory the remnants of our life. I'm tired of living in a small apartment with three other humans and a dog. I'm tired of keeping meticulous records of what we need to replace and what we already have replaced so no one can accuse us of fraud. I'm tired of to do lists that keep growing and of the guilt I feel when I take any time for myself. I'm tired of being polite and being patient. I want my house back. I want my life back.
Our poor damaged house wasn't any kind of mansion. It was cluttered and often disorganized. It didn't have the big garage or acreage my husband lusted after. It was never a showplace, but it was our happy home. We *lived* in it--in every room. We had a home that welcomed us, family, friends, and weary travelers from near and far. There was a lot of laughter filling up the spaces between floor and ceiling along with nearly 20 years of memories.
People keep asking us if we're going to take advantage of the opportunity to rebuild differently. "Now's your chance to have the house you've always dreamed of," they say. But I *had* the house I dreamed of, and more. And I want it back the way it was. I'd even welcome the clutter and the chaos.
Oh I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it better.ReplyDelete
Thank you, Michele, very much appreciated. :)ReplyDelete
Lisa, I found my way to your blog by clicking on a comment you left on Writer Unboxed. The comments there show the title of the commenter's last blog post, and yours -- Reflections on Surviving a Fire -- reached out and grabbed me. I read your piece in the Newton Tab, and I was struck by two completely different feelings. The first was how very sorry I am that you and family are experiencing such upheaval and trauma, and the second was how beautifully and gracefully written your piece is.ReplyDelete
I live about 45 minutes northwest of you, and I'm in Cambridge every now and again. Perhaps we could meet for a cup of coffee and a writerly chat one of these days. I won't mind at all if you rant. I'm sending good thoughts through the ether to you.
Beth--thank you for finding your way here! I'm always happy to network with another local writer. Please do drop me a line and I'd love to meet you for coffee.ReplyDelete
Thank you also for your kind comments.
It's all right to have a moment where you focus on the "ick-grump-unhappy" part of everything. Still ... I'd give you a big hug if I could. Or let Hazen do it. Hazen's really good at hugs. I think 3-year-old's just have "squishy-hugs" built into them.ReplyDelete
Ooh! A Hazen hug! That would totally do the trick. :) Thanks, sweetie. And know that you continue to be in my thoughts.ReplyDelete