Here it is, the eve of the move. The eve of finally having all of me in one place. It’s hard to pick up the pieces when you r life is scattered in many directions, in storage units, and garages, and the trunk of your car, and in your mother’s greenhouse and a friends spare bedroom…and a thousand other places it seems.
Home. It is a special word to me. A place that is my sanctuary, my safe place. It is where I go to take off the armor of the day and let my guard down. This is where I am safe, this is where I am protected from the outside elements. This, this is my Home. And for a person like me, it is so tough to be somewhere, that is not home.
The mold is still in the house, as the sellers and I go through the dance of negotiations. One seller is helpful, the other seller, Richard Porter, refuses to speak, only to say we have nothing to speak about. And I breath, knowing that there are plenty of people investigating him and criminal charges pending.
And I focus on my future. on unpacking. On getting settled in for the winter. On making sure this place, this space, is my home while I am here. It as been hard getting here, there truly are no words to express the amount of tears, pain, worry, stress, emotion and hardship. To be displaced from you home, through no fault of your own because Richard Porter tool illegal shortcuts.
To have no place to go, to face the possibility of loosing everything you own, to be sick fro the mold, to have your loved pets sick, to have to figure out where to go and what to do has been overwhelming at times.
And I look around, at where I am now, typing before bed and I am thankful. I have been given a home away from home. A friend who opened up her home to be when I had nowhere to go and nothing to offer in return. A friend who gave a safe place to land, while trying to navigate through difficult waters of life.
She gave more then a bed and warm place to sleep, but hot coffee in the morning, breakfast burritos, encouragement when I was too lost and upset to even make it off the couch to cook or do dishes. Yet she was there, with all her Grace, caring and making sure I was OK. She gave conversation and laughter, the Blacklist and funny show clips. Warm towels, clean washcloths, and friendship. She seemed to understand that I needed a moment, to be a mess, to collect myself and regroup. I am the one who takes care of those around me. Yet I was in genuine need of support.
Something I wall always remember and pass on whenever I can.
And here I am now, on the eve of being safe and settled and I know, deep down where I hear my heart beating, that I could not have done it, gotten here, without the love and support of such wonderful family and friends. And as I drift off to sleep, one last time in the warm and comfortable spare bedroom of my friend, I know that I have been kept safe while here. And in the short span of 24 hours, I will be getting settled. My life will, after several months of seemingly moldy chaos, will once again be manageable.
And my heart and mind rest deeply on the thought.
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