When I left our family home to move to my home, I set a year as a time when I’d evaluate my life situation: do I sell or keep the family home? do I go back and forth between the two homes? am I still confident in the purchase of this new home? how is my life in this new city? do I miss the old city? do I want to keep looking for something further? am I content?
A year is upon me… NO, I don’t want to look at anything still!
And yet, time drums on, and I did return to the old home. There, I realized that what I love about that home, is that it was home. Home: family, history, stories, future, comfort. That home no longer exists for me. With my husband passed and not returning, my adult children living their lives and not returning.. that home is void for me. Alone, that home is now just a haunted house.
A house that requires lawns mowed, bushes shaped, trees trimmed, weeds pulled, flowers tended, garden cleaned. A house that requires dusting, polishing, airing, vacuuming, mopping, window cleaning, running water through pipes, bulbs changing.
A haunted house. I was haunted with memories, hearing the family noises, confronted with familiar smells, feeling the beloved carpet. Haunted. No current life left there for me. Just haunted.
Pain lingers with the haunting… I want it all back, and yet…
I release you home… I release you house… I release you garden… I release you yard… I release you shed… I release you carpet… I release you Randy… I release you my children… I release you dreams… I release you memories… I release you stories… I release you clinging… I release…
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The Survivor 
❤️
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