Homeless

Did you ever have that feeling when you were a kid when you were somewhere you really, really didn’t want to be and all you wanted to do was go home? Maybe it was as an adult and you felt unsafe, or just uncomfortable, but all you can think about is going home. Home is your safe haven. Home is where you find peace. Home is where you can let all the walls around you down and just freely be you.

Mine is gone. My brain desperately begs me to go home all day, but my husband was my home. Most times he feels so far out of reach, but other times when I am sitting on the floor of our closet buried in his work hoodies, it still feels like if I open my eyes he will be there waiting to scoop me up. My home feels like it is right there, but when I open my eyes I am tossed back into the darkness with the sharp knife of reality slicing me in two.

These walls of my house surrounding me seem meaningless. I try with all my might to see my husband in these walls. We worked so hard to build this house and my brain knows that this house shows his love, dedication and protection of this family, but my heart refuses to . After his passing I found my husband’s scribbly handwriting under the basement stairs, a simple love note written to me that sent me spiraling. My hope is with time my heart will find him in these walls and accept this as a version of my home, but for now my heart still cries out for the home I knew and adored for my entire adult life.

I know more then just widows can relate to this feeling. We fumble around lost, searching and failing to find our safe haven. Here we are in a house, homeless.