The House

The day Chris died it was a cocoon, a productive cover of wood which made me both claustrophobic and comforted.

To this home I brought both of my babies home to our family.  I had dreams and hopes.  Made memories, too many to hold on to.  Felt confident that this home would be the setting of so many memories, the foundation of my family.

In the course of a single hour this house became a shadow of what I thought it would be.

It's been difficult to say and few have heard me address the issue because of the emotional gravity of the topic.

I was supposed to make a plethora of happy memories here.  I was supposed to one day come to the conclusion we had outgrown the home and needed to move on.  I was supposed to look over the house with a tear in my eye, remembering the happy and looking forward to the future.

I need out.

This house and all it held for me now feels like it holds me hostage.  I love this house but it haunts me.

Tonight I crouched to help Owen potty while half asleep and glanced into the shower to envision Chris and for a moment I wondered what his last moment was like and recalled yelling at him to not leave his children, his head rested on the corner of the bathtub. 

I wander the house, the yard and recall amazing memories.  The bathroom haunts me.  I refused to allow myself to avoid the space. I used it that day.  It took a few weeks to shower there but I did.  I spent hours remodeling the room in order to reclaim the space.  Reclaiming the space did not allow me to reclaim the space in my psyche. 

I find myself replaying the events moment by moment as I shampoo my hair.  I tell myself to stop, it's morbid, it's painful, it's unproductive.  I force myself to remember happy.  I force myself to remember that Chris would have hated that he died in that way...that he died at all.  As I run my brush through my hair with the hot air blowing, I recall his clothes still behind the door, the laundry basket filled with work clothes, standing in the bathtub fully clothed the day after Chris' death trying to remember what had happened the day before, hearing the operator tell me to pull all 240lbs wet lbs of Chris out of the tub and looking incredulously at the phone.

We've been talking about moving.  We won't until fall, should we be able to figure out how to pull it all together.  Like dominos so many things need to come together.  One of them is getting married.  I would rather sell this house but I am upside down in the loan and paying to get out would take up too much of the savings and selling it as a short sale wouldn't allow me to be on a new loan which we need in order to get out of this house. 

I sat on the deck tonight enjoying the light breeze, excited about the work we have been putting into the back yard.  We've removed the back deck cover I have hated since I set foot in this house.  I love it!!  There is finally a breeze on the deck and through the back door.  The large garden has been weeded, matted and barked.  It looks fabulous!  I love the yard.  My kids love the yard.  Can I just live in the yard?  Nobody died in the yard.

At first I was determined to gut it out.  I could do it.  I wouldn't show weakness.  I was going to reclaim it.  I've come to realize no amount of reclaiming, writing, blogging, talking will reclaim the venue of the greatest tragedy of my life.

So what to do? 

I need out.  The replay of events is running my brain ragged.