I'm sitting in bed, and my bed is over a hole. And once again I have fly away ends.
The fly away ends are the easiest to explain. It's this frizzy-hair thing that happens when I get a bad haircut.
The hole is easy too, 29 piers for the foundation repairs. 12 thousand dollars. Piles of dirt and concrete in my yard. A jackhammer in my living room. The house has been sold and we're all in limbo.
The significance of the hole is hardest to explain. I wrote on facebook that this is an analogy for my life. Digging up the foundation to rebuild from underground upwards. It's nice and it's true. But the excavation has it's consequences; the skeletons come out. Released from their prisons, they attack.
My house, my mid century modern meets log cabin dream house. I had dreams of the life I would lead while living here. Dreams of a family. It was mist and mirrors, and the house now holds the smoking gun of mean mixed with madness.
This house, It was a new start, a fresh beginning and two pink lines on a pregnancy test. A new job, a new baby, and a withdrawn husband with a mean streak. A mean streak that grew steadily until it seeped into every interaction with his family. A figurative slap in the face. A literal slap in the face. Words can cut like silent knives, sharp to the atom. Worse than the hits by far. A whispered voice "mommy, daddy's got the mean in him, we better hide."
I remember hopelessness that felt like a gag, a straightjacket and too tight shoes all at once. Silently crying myself to sleep. Sitting in the car in the driveway so I could spend a few more peaceful minutes with my lovelies before exposing them to the insidious burn of scorn.
I remember sitting in Avery's room, holding her blanket, working up the courage to kick her father out of our lives. It took me an evening, the entire night and half a morning spent in prayer and thought. It took a divine hand in mine to pack his bags.
In this house was madness, quite secondary really, but if someone tells you your entire family is going to be murdered in their sleep enough times, you start to think maybe, just maybe they know something you don't. You learn to watch the shadows. You start to doubt your own judgement of reality.
Despite this darkness, some good memories, little sparks of joy, solely of my children and myself. My delightful baby girl, my son turning into a brother. Avery's first steps, William's first year of school. Watching "just one more" episode of Avatar over and over. Reading countless books to my babies, William learning to read them back to me. Snowmen and snow angels in the front yard the year it snowed so unexpectedly. Snowmen and snow angels in the back yard the next year when it snowed so unexpectedly again! Walking to the store because the roads were too dangerous to drive. The toothfairy came to our house, santa and the easter bunny too.
I won't let darkness swallow light. That being said, what I will remember most about this house was the look on William's face after being raged at the very last time. Daddy's got the mean in him. That's right, baby, he does. But mommy's kicked him out, and he'll not hurt us anymore.
And so I sit here, on my bed over the hole, with my fly away ends pulled back and tear stained cheeks and I reflect on my life here. I won't look back, but I may drive by every couple years to see if I can see William and Avery playing motorcycle cops and aliens in the driveway.
