Thursday, May 22, 2014

About An Abode



I could lose my house. In fact, I probably will.

For the first few months after Mike died that thought kept me awake at night. It was the single biggest fear I had in that terrible, dark time. I felt like I was choking on grief, and drowning in panic. I could barely breathe when the waves of fear came over me.

I went through every channel I could find to try and keep it. I was constantly calling the banks and talking to different people. I filled out so many forms and applications my head was spinning. I found a wonderful local nonprofit to mediate for me and pestered my attorney with questions and freaked out every time I got some disturbing letter in the mail. I have a stack of paperwork about two feet high from it all and that is no exaggeration.

My conscience did not like living here and not paying the mortgage, but I will be honest with you - my particular situation is so long and twisted, and the banks (yes, Bank of America until they - surprise, surprise - sold the loan in the midst of the process) are so stupid and impersonal and impossible to deal with that I don't even care about that anymore. The left hand NEVER knows what the right hand is doing and I'm tired of it all. So I'm going to live here until I can't anymore and they can go you-know-where. When we finally go to court for the foreclosure; when the banks finally move on that, I will be there to fight it. But if there is no reasonable alternative offered, I will probably just let it go and be at peace with that.

My dear friend and fellow widow Margaret texted me this morning that even though she loves her house, it's no longer a home, just a house, because her Dave's not in it.

I texted back I know exactly what she means. It feels so strange here now.

I've tried to make it my home. My stepdaughters and I went through his things months ago; his bedroom is now my art studio/office. I've moved furniture around and redecorated a little. But this is the house we bought together when we moved to Hawaii in 2001. It was our home for 12 years.

In many ways it will always feel like our home...even though there is no our anymore. I am reminded of him constantly no matter what changes I make. The wall where his poster used to hang. That corner where his bookshelf used to be. The patch of grass he used to walk back and forth to his archery target. His bathroom. Some days those thoughts are comforting; some days I find myself lost in memories, staring at the cupboard where his things used to be stored, remembering. Some days now, that brings a smile.

Other days it is only tears, and I wonder how I will ever find peace and happiness in a new future with all these memories staring me in the face every day.

I don't know what will happen to me, but for the first time I'm ok with that. Don't get me wrong - the thought of moving out makes me extremely sad, and that will be a very difficult day, when it comes, for all the memories I will leave behind. But in the end, I truly do not care if I lose it, because I will just choose to believe that will be the right time for me to take the next step in my own life, whatever that may be.

17 comments:

  1. Im sorry about what you are going through; financial headaches on top of grief are tough. I also relate to the home being a house; I feel that way about my house, it was home when my wife was alive. Now its just a house. I used to tell her home is where SHE was. Whenever she traveled that was where my heart was-when I traveled I couldn't wait to get on the first flight back to her. Now shes been gone for almost one year and my home is heaven, or wherever her soul has gone...

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    1. Hi RK, Thank you. Yes, home is where they were, wasn't it? We'll have to try to get used to it differently one day I guess. So sorry for your loss.

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  2. I also live in a house that is a constant reminder of what once was. My wife pretty much decorated the inside of the house, so every day it brings a certain amount of pain being here alone. As you said to move will be hard, but will bring the you to move on what all of us must do in time..

    God Bless

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    1. Thank you for sharing,blessings to you too.

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  3. It is a difficult task, for sure, and I wish you the best of luck. When my husband was diagnosed with esophagus cancer in 2010, we made the decision to do a short sale with good ole Bank of America. We moved out into a rental and stopped paying the mortgage, hoping that would spur them along into making things move faster. We thought the whole thing would be a done deal by December 2011 but lo and behold, they sold the loan on December 31, 2011! We had to start all over again with a new mortgage company, Specialized Loan Servicing, who was even worse than BofA! In 2012, the cancer spread and he died June 28, 2012.
    By that point, I was so done with dealing with SLS that I wanted to throw in the towel and just let them foreclose in the place but by real estate agent dug in her heels and in April of 2013, the house finally sold.
    I said all this to say that a house, without the one you love, is really just a house. We lived and raised our sons and grandsons there but it's still just a house. The boys and I have wonderful memories of that place but I'm glad we moved before my hubby passed because I don't know if I would've had the strength to move now. I went on Zillow to see what changes were made and at first I was angry because we made a lot of good modifications that I felt the new owners (I should say "flippers" because they just fixed it and sold it within a few months) didn't appreciate. Then I took a step back and reminded myself that what worked for us didn't work for them and I had to be ok with that. All part of the moving forward process.
    Good luck to you with the whole foreclosure process. The fact that you're making changes to your hubby's spaces little by little may help when the time comes to move. It'll still be overwhelming, I'm sure, but maybe just a small tidal wave instead of a tsunami. Peace and blessings be with you.
    --Marissa

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    1. Hi Marissa, ha! Yes SLS I am quite aware of now. They are all terrible. I'm glad your home sold though and that you are moving forward how you can. None of this all is good in any way but maybe it helps to have the support that I'm not the only one, right? Blessings to you too.

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  4. I'm so sorry for your losses, Stephanie. They seem to pile on top of each other, don't they? I, too, will be vacating my home, which has also become just a house. Don't know the next step either, didn't think I could make it thru the first week, month, year...and here it is 4 years.

    With death, everything takes on a different perspective: most of his stuff just became stuff (mine too!), this home just became a house. I'm hoping the memories we shared here will remain with me, but not be staring me in the face everyday as I change the scene and move. Be gentle with yourself as you move on, and know others have dealt with this too.

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    1. Thank you. Breathing sounds good! For a long time I almost couldn't!! Gentle is a good word.

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  5. I can really identify with what your friend texted to you this morning Stephanie. Our house ceased being a home when Dawn Marie died. I remained there for six months afterwards, but life there became a living hell. So many reminders of what once was. I walked away from it and left the keys with my mom asking her to mail them back to the bank. My family and friends were kind enough to move everything into storage for me, our "stuff" remains in those two units to this day.

    I know that the prospect of losing your home can be frightening. As hard as it had become to stay in our house, it was equally hard walking out the door knowing that I would never return. I pray for your continued strength and courage, and send you hugs from afar. Thanks you again for sharing, I so look forward to Thursdays here.

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    1. Hi Glenn, thank you for your continued support it truly means so much. And that is an incredible statement about our stuff and homes with our late spouses. It all becomes just kind of meaningless without them...anyway I am realizing it isn't, nor should it be, any sort of anchor. Now that I've mentally released myself I do feel freer to think about something different. And I'll take the hugs, thank you! Back atcha.

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  6. As I read this this morning, I am waiting for the realtor and photographer to come and take pictures for the MLS listing of the home I shared with my late husband. It's been four years, at first I clung to the home and wanted to complete everything we discussed doing to the home. After that was done I found myself full of anxiety, I had the home I dreamed of but my husband was gone and my heart felt empty and sad. I have made the decision to sell our home. It's time to let go and have my son and I move forward to what we both see as new beginnings, taking every memory with us.

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    1. Hi Becky, wow. Yes empty and sad. I'm glad you've made a decision and with you peace and blessings. I'm so sorry for your loss - it feels good to share here, so thank you.

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  7. I am sorry to read about this, Stephanie. As another post said, these losses just seem to keep coming, to keep piling up. As for B of America - I have no polite words. Let's leave it there.

    But I do want to tell you that today is my 2-year anniversary in my new home, the one I moved to after my Steve died. I did not face foreclosure, as you are doing, but knew that health (and down the road, possibly also financial) pressures would push me to sell our house and move into a condo, in a building with an elevator and other conveniences - and lower expenses. I dreaded it. Simply could not imagine leaving the home Steve and I dreamed of, finally bought, and shared. It tore me up to think about it. Then, when I was ready to move, the overwhelming chore of culling stuff, packing, moving - I would awaken each morning in a panic. Absolute panic.

    It has worked out pretty well, though, I have to say. Didn't happen all at once, but after I'd been in my new place a few months, I realized it was starting to feel like home. Not with the same emotional resonance of the house that my husband and I shared, but good enough. I like it here, and I'm amazed that I can say that. A lot of other things are still hard, but I do feel like I'm home.

    I hope you find yourself peacefully home - wherever that turns out to be - in the not too distant future. All the best to you.

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    1. It is good to hear this. Yes the moving process looms one day but I suppose we do get through it. Thank you very much for sharing, and I wish you also peace.

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  8. I am wishing you strength and wisdom. Surround yourself with the best people you can find.

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  9. I can identify with this post. In the first year after my husband died I was obsessed with paying off the mortgage and I sold everything that couldn't walk...even then the dog was getting nervous he'd be next. Fortunately, I was able to make my goal but it took me a year and part of the life insurance. People who haven't gone through it don't have a clue what kind of stress widows are under until they get their financial and emotional legs under them. The stress is gone for me, now, but the loneliness still lingers.

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    1. Jean, I love the remark about the dog!

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