I am at the threshold of moving into my first-time home purchase. This has been a dream in progress since 2003, before my ex-husband's felony trial and conviction. Before a joint bankruptcy. Before I realized I was on a slippery slope to divorce and 4.5 years of legal process. And definitely before the 12 re-locations through temporary housing we experienced between 2005 and now.
Yesterday, I spent 4 peaceful hours tending to our new garden beds. My 12 year old son, Liam, met me in the garden to help with watering. While he was stooped over a few baby plants he took a pause from our conversation and looked around, as if seeing the place for the first time. Then he said, "Thank you mama, for making us a home here." He returned to his watering as if there was only that moment in time. I managed to say, "You are very welcome" without weeping or getting mushy. I felt like I could drop to my knees in gratitude for the promise I was keeping alive for my children.
It would be unfair to say that this home in progress was only for my children. It represents so many things to me: a place to call my own, a foundation for what is yet to come into our lives, a chance to be in a program with other families to improve housing options on our island, and a natural desire to nest with my children in a more permanent way once again.
Our new home represents a conclusion to a cycle of struggle and disorientation. Those who have experienced homelessness understand the edginess of life at the margin of despair. The pattern of settling for less than is truly required has been interrupted. And this is a good thing.
Despite the hardships of the last few years, things tended to work out favorably for us, if I stayed aware.
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