This post is about loss but also about hope.
The past couple of years have been full of transition and personal awareness. At times, when I’ve tried to explain it, I couldn’t find the words. You see, I’ve had dual roles. While one foot is in the throes of raising children and looking towards their future, the other foot has been guiding aging parents into their next chapter.
It has been a tough place to navigate and exist. But in the midst of it, I have discovered so many rich, wonderful treasures.
On the inside, there were rooms left untouched. Rooms that had lost their true purpose. There was furniture with covers over them, fixtures with cobwebs and windows where the curtains were drawn. Floors had been covered to hide spills or damage. Paint was not tended to and had begun to fade and peel. Rooms where laughter and possibility had once filled every inch were now empty and silent.
A storm came. It came slowly and lasted a while. The storm revealed damaged spots but also areas of resilience in the home. It was time for the house to have intentional attention put upon it.
The house realized that it was made for so much more. What will that look like, the house wondered. Enter an amazing group of people. Each one has something different to offer. Each one with their own unique tool box. At first, each contemplated where to start. With openness and energy the work began.
The layers of paint began to be scraped off and sanded. At times, it was uncomfortable and even painful for the house. The floors were exposed and the damaged areas were repaired. Gently and delicately, the cobwebs were pulled away.
When the drapes were open, light filled the house. It began to look and feel different. Slowly, just as the covers on the furniture were taken off, the house began to remember what it was like to be the amazing, unique house it was built to be.
Restoration is a process. Oftentimes, a long, arduous process. A process that yielded rooms once again filled with laughter, love and dreams it once held dear. In the midst of it all, the house was careful to place reminders of the past. A way to remember the joys during the pain and keep perspective in the present.
The house invites all who are weary or burdened. It knows the hope we can have among the struggle. There are days it rains and days it shines. The house is grateful, no matter the season because the amazing group of people seem to always be there, ready and willing to do the work.
I am the house. I am grateful. These are my words. It turns out, I have a lot of them. This post is my way of saying thank you and showing gratitude. Whether you are part of my iPEC people, whom I adore, or my BYLR encouragers, supporters, my amazing (and I mean amazing) group of friends or my sweet, savory wonderful family this is for you.
These past couple of years have been tough. Watching the woman who raised me slowly slip away until there is nothing but a shell, has been both emotionally and physically draining. Losing both my parents, living here without them. I get loss, but loss comes in so many different ways. I don’t understand all of them. I do, unfortunately, understand a broken heart.
