Moving in

This is happening.

And it’s just the weirdest, most wonderful thing.

Our furniture was returned yesterday morning. When the moving truck from the storm damage company pulled up, two guys and a girl hopped out.

“Do you remember me?” one of the guys asked. “I was here the night the tree hit your house.”

He looked like a guy from the movies. Dark skin, dark eyes, glasses. I felt like hugging him. I did remember him. He was so calm, while we were in such chaos the night of the storm. I remember standing outside in the rain, the tree everywhere, our house in ruins. I remember him saying that everything was going to be all right. He said, “We’ll take of you.”

And that meant everything.

The girl was there too. In the days after the storm, she ripped out all my walls in blistering 90-degree heat. She had close-shorn hair and a tattoo up the back of her neck. “I love your house,” she said. “It’s looking so good now.”

It felt like The Wizard of Oz.

And you were there, and you, and you!

I think of Dorothy saying, There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. 

But she had to learn that, while I’ve felt that way from the start. All I’ve ever wanted, this whole time, was to go home.

And now that we are, I’m trying to understand what’s changed for us, what was the point of this.

I don’t know why this happened to us. I don’t think there’s any big reason, even though I’ve looked for meaning in it. Bad things happen, all the time. Sometimes you’re lucky, sometimes you’re not.

My husband, my children, my marriage, myself: we’ve all been tested by this, we’ve been changed, but we don’t know how yet and in what way. Only time will tell.

All I know is right now, today, while we’re moving back in, everything feels like Technicolor. The house, the light, the rooms and the blue water beyond them.

It feels like a dream, but it’s real.

Advertisements