The House: One Year Later (October 30, 2023)

Around this time a year ago, I was looking at Zillow as a distraction (as one does) and saw a listing for a house near my work. I was 6 months out from losing Scott, and my plan had been not to make any major life changes for the first year. But something about the house felt compelling and I decided that I should take a look at it.

Two days later, I saw the house. I was sort of hoping that there would be something obviously wrong with it so I could go back to my daily life and not have to confront any potential big decisions. But the house and the neighborhood seemed lovely, and for the first time in two years I felt excited about something. I spent the next few days in a frenzy of research and thinking about what I wanted to do. 

A week after I first saw the listing (with no idea that I was about to buy a house), I went under contract. The day that I signed off on the offer, I went to visit Scott and asked him to let me know if I was doing anything too crazy. I wished so much that he could be with me as I was about to make this decision. I saw the months stretching ahead of me filled with the work of getting my old house ready to sell and updating the new house. Would I be up for all that uncertainty and planning and work? Could I handle it on my own?

Ultimately, I realized that if I didn't go for it, I would regret it. So I took the leap of faith that I would be able to deal with whatever surprises may come. My realtor Joe Bird, whom I had picked almost randomly to show me the house, turned out to be a savvy and trustworthy guide in a crazy housing market, and he made the whole process of buying (and later selling) a house surprisingly smooth and straightforward.

I realized early on that "all this house needs is a little love and a lot of money." In the months that followed, I replaced the carpets, had the walls repainted, and worked through a constantly expanding list of To Do items. I slept on an air mattress in the new house for nearly 6 months, which horrified everyone around me but really wasn't so bad. I started meeting my neighbors, and I can't believe my luck that I ended up in a wonderful community with so many caring neighbors. Scott’s Dad and brother came out in February and knocked out a bunch of electrical tasks. I realized that I didn’t have to deal with the house stuff all on my own.

Working on the house helped me discover my new identity and new life after Scott and prioritize the things that were important to me. I knew that I wanted to be able to host my friends and family for gatherings and overnight visits. I made one of the rooms into a library, something that Scott and I had always wanted. I wanted to find a sense of peace when I was at home and feel Scott's presence here. I think he would have loved this house and its vibe. I moved our entire movie collection to the new house and have them arranged just as he had them. I will probably never watch "Pootie Tang" or "The Thing", but it feels comforting to have the things that he enjoyed around me (he had many other movies that I actually like as well).

I've found the grief isn't something where I wake up one day and think, "I'm feeling incrementally better now." Over time, I'll look back and realize how far I've come, even if it didn't seem obvious back then. I still get hit at random times with a flashback of Scott's illness and death, and the pain is as raw and devastating as in the early days. I still am struck by how surreal my life seems now. Last week I was looking out my kitchen windows at the blaze of fall colors around my house, and I thought about how I live in this lovely house now but Scott isn't here with me anymore, and how I would gladly live in a shack for the rest of my life if it meant that I could be with him. But I don't get that choice, so I have to do my best in this new life without him, as I promised him I would.

 

Last Halloween, I could not find it within me to open the door and see all the families and kids without running the risk of breaking down and crying in front of them. So I turned off the lights and closed the curtains that year. I could not face the world in that way yet, alone. This year I have my candy ready for the neighborhood kids. The fact that I no longer have to hide the candy from a marauding Scott is bittersweet. My group is having a pumpkin carving event tomorrow afternoon, which will be the first time that I've carved a pumpkin in very, very long time. If time permits, I may stop by in the evening at a neighborhood fire pit gathering. These things may not seem like a big deal for most people, but connecting with new people without Scott is a huge step for me and something that I'm still working on.