Torn down, but not erased

 

My house will be gone by the end of the week. Obliterated, windows shattered, torn down to the foundation. Very soon all that will be left of that home will be the memories of those who've lived, loved and lost there; and while the memories I'll share here are mostly for me, I hope they can stand as some type of lesson, warning, or blessing for you. 

April 25, 2018- Tyler and I closed on our 3rd anniversary together on a new home. It doesn't get any better than that, right? We whirled in with new paint, carpet, and dreams of a wonderful safe haven together. I found one, just not where I anticipated. 

At least 3 generations of flooring

The next year was happy; I pushed through 3 doctors and found my 'angel' epileptologist and neurosurgeon. I seized (a LOT), and survived 3 brain surgeries, but I've never had a more supportive and heroic ward in my whole life. I've had meals on my doorstep, gifts, decorations, cards, cheery messages, and countless blessings have been given there. I can never take that for granted. So many young women's lessons were given there, and countless other relaxed, comfortable times. 

2020 was...good glory, it was something! I made it through two more brain surgeries,  I got divorced and was sued by my ex-husband 4 days after my major surgery, so I was a little busy trying to rein in my life (and learn to talk again) all at the same time! This was also the surgery that sent me back to cognitive, physical and occupational therapy and basic English classes again ;)

The original clawfoot bathtub
owned by the Criddle family

I recovered at my friend's home for some peace and quiet where I caught COVID-19 two weeks post-op, but thanks to all of those amazing meals from my ward I was able to simply collapse and sleep for 2 weeks straight! No, I'm not telling you all of the delightful symptoms I experienced. lol If I can beat COVID after brain surgery, nothing can keep me down!

2020 ended (hallelujah) and last week I stood outside of my old house, looked up at the roof, the beautiful woodwork, the birds singing nearby, and I sobbed uncontrollably. I fought so hard for everything in that house, physically & spiritually. I gave it my everything and it still wasn’t enough. 


I battled epilepsy, depression, suicidal ideation, exhaustion, and agonizing, constant pain all while working 40 hours a week. I watched a husband go from full strength in the church to wither and slide into doubts, then walk away from me, our church, and everything I've ever loved and dreamt of. I lost my forever with the man I planned on spending it with. Where I imagined a nursery with children was replaced with empty rooms lazily tossed with yearly decorations.



My 'would be' nursery

To see my house is to see my old life now: overtaken by weeds, torn and cast aside, a shell of a memory I once adored; yet I can barely stand to look at it now. I ache for the day it’s torn down, and it breaks my heart at the same time. It should go any day now- tomorrow will probably be it's last. 

My last official walk-through


 While absolutely everything in me grieves for those   losses, I also remember the high points:

 I enjoyed a beautiful home with so many friends and   family nearby. I loved having parties, celebrations and   girls nights there, and I always hoped that people left   stronger than they came. We housed 6 foster German   Shepherds during our time there, and I felt like I was   constantly saying "Nobody asked you", "Well then next   time don't do that", and "Too bad, so sad!" as I bent   over picking up dog poop. 


Tonight's tattered version



  




I know it's 100+ year old history is absolutely incredible, but I will forever be grateful to my Heavenly Father for ensuring that my divorce could coincide with closing on the home, because how could we have sold it elsewhere? What a magnificent financial situation that He ensured for UDOT to enable me and my 'family' to be safe and start a fresh life. 



I went back again tonight and grieved some more, but I will always have the key to my first home on my Christmas tree and the hundreds of memories that will hold close to me when I need them. 



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