As published in The Florida Villager.
Death of a Dream
One of the hardest things for my clients is letting go of the family home. Let me share the death of my dream that took place 16 years ago and what I learned.
I found myself through the course of the day stopping and looking around whatever room I happened to be in and think, “How will I ever be able to emotionally detach from my home?” “How will I help my children and their sadness when I myself am crying behind closed doors? ” Where will that strength come from?” With each box I packed, I felt a piece of the house’s energy jump into it. The memories were being pulled from the shelves, placed in a box, sealed and marked fragile. I knew by the time I closed my front door for the last time, it would no longer be our home but the shell of a house.
I took all the important things with me — scrapbooks, pictures, things collected over the years, my children, our health — but yet we will be leaving part of us behind, for entombed in my closet wall is a picture of my intact family on the day we moved in. We moved into our dream home at the end of 2001. My children were five and six. It wasn’t just about the home as it was then but how I saw its role in our lives moving forward into our golden years. I saw my children and all their friends growing up here, nights by the outdoor fire pit, graduation parties, even my daughter’s engagement party on the lawn. So many future dreams. Well, you know the saying about the best-laid plans for exactly five years later to the month, my husband and I separated and a part of my dream was gone. Life as I knew it changed dramatically as friends scurried like roaches, vacations became less, and, quite frankly, the bulk of my time was spent picking up the pieces caused by the fracture of our marriage, but I always took solace in the comfort and safety of my home. All my other dreams were still there. I could still have a house full of my friends and my children’s’ friends, fires in the pit, and yes, even my daughter’s engagement party. However, a cloud settled over our home for many years as the children and I tried to make sense of our new life, adjust to new schedules and reclaim our home.
About five years after the divorce, we all seemed to get our groove back, including our beloved home. Enter fate. For years, my accountant had been the voice of gloom telling me keeping the house was not in my best financial interest but hope flows eternal. Then it happened, the offer I couldn’t refuse. This was now the second time in six years I felt the ground fall out from under me only this time it was my last dream that was hanging in the balance. This was it; the last vestige of the way we were would be gone.
Fast forward and reflection has shown me some lessons learned by all this. I learned to let go and I watched my children learn that lesson, too. I learned that we all handle change and sadness in different ways, but the end result is always the same; we all came out on the other side, the sun came up the next day, and it was in fact a much-needed move for all of us. Yes, we all gave up parts of ourselves and our dreams, but we gained strength we never knew we had. We learned resiliency, adaptation and compassion for each other. I learned that resistance to the inevitable can only make things worse and if you believe the best is yet to come, it will show up. I learned one can become stagnant and not even realize it, that your true friends will be there to help you stand strong and yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.