House Hunting

There are so many emotional ups and downs to buying a house. The following is a poem I wrote for my husband during one of our "bidding periods." Maybe it's something with which some of you can resonate.

Voices

It’s beautiful outside. Quiet, snowy, and peaceful.

I am driving with my husband in search of a house. We’ve been stressed lately. Money is a consistent challenge. We want to be proud, we want to be grounded. We want to feel like we matter. We want so desperately to be the grown ups we are- a married couple with a space of our own.

We tried unsuccessfully to buy a house early this week. My husband wanted this badly. I wanted it for him, and for us. This is still weighing on his mind. His fears of failure are fresh but dull- a muscle ache deep in his heart.

Tonight, we saw a house. We saw parties and company and maybe even babies. We saw neighbors over the fence, we saw cookouts, we saw romantic dinners. We saw ourselves.

We also saw risk. High risk, and fear.

Defeat washes over my husband- a prophecy that has won this battle. We can barely afford…cannot buy a house. His normally relaxed face- the face I love- crumpled into heavy thought. I know he feels hopeless. I know he wants to hide, to cry, to scream, to fall in a heap. He says he is sorry. Such powerful words, such a suffocating burden; this burden should not be for my husband.

As we drive on Dale in warmth of our unhappy car, I glance out the window at the cemetery. It’s dark; I squint to see beyond shape after shape of quiet gravestones. I am drawn to the comfort of silence and unwavering peace.

Brief winks of light, a Morse code blinks across the still ground of the cemetery. Only I am meant to see this. The shiny granite reflects the light that traffic brings to a busy street.

The gravestones are alive. They are beckoning to me- an urgent message.

It will all be well. Leap, it tells me- as the light flits from one place to another. Go ahead and jump. We’re here. We hear. All will be well. We wish to guide you into light.

The dead are aware of our struggle. Ancestors have earned a place in history because they have struggled. They’ve done houses and marriage and babies. They’ve done frustration and pride and defeat. Many have loved so much that it hurts- like now.

All have failed, and all have succeeded. Just like us.

Now is the time to receive their message gracefully. We were never meant to be alone- just us. The forces surrounding us have been holding us dear all the while.

You will love, you will feel pride, you will be happy.

If you say so, I think. If you think we can.

You can. You will.

We will.