There is a house that we are cheering for. One day this past December it burned, not to the ground, but close enough. We had been to Connecticut for the holidays and in the last few miles before our house we saw the black shell of the house that used to be there. We all took a breath, pausing as the memories came flooding back. Speechless we looked at each other wondering what had happened? How could this have happened? The last few minutes of the drive to our house were spent reliving the pain that exists from the day our life changed in an instant.
We don't know the people who own the house but in a way we are connected. Our house burned a few years ago. An accident. Candles on the porch. It happened at night and it happened swiftly. We got the kids out and the dog, then sat on the trail and watched our history and our memories go up in flames. Although time has passed, I am there feeling those emotions each time I pass this house. The feelings are bittersweet, sometimes more bitter than sweet. But we find ourselves celebrating each of the little victories that were so important to us.
The day they bulldozed what was left of the house.
The empty hole.
The foundation.
The walls.
The roof.
We cheer for this little house being built, remembering the walks through our house being built. Still reeling from the pain of our loss but somehow trying to fathom that this new structure was to be our home.
It is our home. These are our memories. The old house and the new house. The experience.
And we continue to cheer for that little house being built.
A constant reminder of all that we have to be thankful for.
