Finding the Way Home

When she lived alone, Cindy felt as if she lived in just a “house.” She spent more time out on the town than in the house, she filled the closets with sealed boxes, and she hung up pictures on nails that were already stuck in the walls. After I moved in with Cindy in November 2002, I quickly set about making the place “ours.” Artwork was hung up on nails that we had stuck in the walls ourselves, boxes were opened and unpacked, and furniture procured. Several months later, while Cindy and I were sitting on the couch eating breakfast, she turned to me and said, “I used to live in a house, but now I feel like we live in a "home." Cindy was not one to be mushy, so when these sentimental moments occurred, I savored them.

I remember one of our first nights in the house. We were lying on the dining room carpet and staring at the dimmed ceiling light. In the background, we were blasting 93.9 WKYS FM. Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “Dancing in September” song came on and without even looking at each other, we both jumped to our feet and started dancing in the then-empty dining room until 2am. The impromptu dance floor stayed in effect until I eventually acquired dining room furniture. Despite the change in the room’s function, Cindy often referred to it as the “dancing room.”

It is now 115 days since Cindy died and 128 days since she had the aneurysm in our bedroom. It took me about a week after Cindy entered the hospital to summon the strength to walk in the front door of our home to retrieve some clothing (I stayed at Karin’s and Chris’s in Springfield for the duration of Cindy’s hospital stay). I did not even set foot in our bedroom until after Cindy died.

In December 2008, I moved out of our home and into a new apartment with my best friend Liz. Without hesitation, Liz took care of all the moving logistics. All I had to do was just show up at the apartment after work. When I arrived the evening of move-in day, my bed, sofa, TV, bikes, boxes, and clothes were already there waiting for me. Liz managed the entire move and did not expect anything in return. Throughout this ordeal, Liz’s entire focus has been to propel me forward. Even when we were in the hospital, she said, “I am here for you--no one else. Remember that.”

Now, I need her help again, as well as the help of others. I need to get the last of my possessions out of the house. I still have several boxes, books, and random items to weed out. Those of you who have traveled with me back to the house since Cindy died know that I struggle setting foot in our old home. Just the other day, I went back to the house to retrieve some coats of mine and I came across Cindy’s old purple and black zipper jacket. I touched the sleeve, held the fabric to my nose, and just burst out crying. Liz and my other best friend Nancy have both witnessed firsthand the power of the house to knock me to knees.

My gut tells me that I have to get my remaining items out of there. I am living this dual life right now and my body is being yanked in two conflicting directions.

On the one side, I don’t want to abandon our home. There is finality in the act of collecting the rest of my belongings. That was our home. That home was our proxy marriage certificate.

But, there’s this other side of me that needs to move on--and I have been moving on. Whether I asked for it or not, I have a new set of eyes for this voyage. Possibility and opportunity surround me and I won’t lie, the journey is exciting. I wake up each morning wondering what new adventure awaits me. In fact, some days I experience moments of giddiness. I am 34 years old and can still feel giddy?

But, I can’t do it alone. I need help to get the last of my possessions out of the house. I can only stand about 45 to 60 minutes in the house. Certain objects I come across drown my head with memories of Cindy and I collapse to the ground. I need do this in intervals over the course of the month. The ideal helper is someone who can administer a tough love attitude and keep me focused. Since Liz has no problem knocking me around, she is going to help me wrap up the bedroom. Then, my tough friend Nancy is going to do the basement with me. I still need someone to help me pack up the study. Any takers?

I will never have a home like the one I shared with Cindy. But, I can’t continue living this dual life, the headaches hurt too much. I need to make a new home.


P.S. Does anyone have any photos of Cindy and me in front of our house? I searched all my photo archives today and could not find any. The only photo I could find was this one with Cindy and a visiting relative (shown at the top of the blog entry).