The House On Stockard Street

I said would I write about going back to our old house and how it made me feel. This is it.

Stockard Street never really felt like mine. I moved in there when I married Robert, I loved living with him, but... it was his house. He had it 7 years before he met me. I didn't hate the house, it was just full of... Robert-stuff (and evidence of his life, for years prior). Not Robert-Chrissy stuff. And it's not really the kind of house I'd pick out for myself. But it was our home.

Now, it is empty. It is repainted, re-carpeted, with no remains of life there expect maybe a Diet Coke in the fridge (thanks, Mom!). And when I walked in there, I had no desire to try to find another house for us when we moved back to Indy.

Because this, this could be our home again.
We were happy there.
We had every need met there.
We could pay off this house in the near future.
We were safe there.
And I didn’t don't want that to change.

Robert got to witness this really, really cool trick I can do. I can have a total panic attack for really no reason and really out of nowhere (that's why it's called an anxiety disorder). I sat on the floor in the loft and just cried. I cried and cried and breathed harder and harder until I was gasping for air. Robert came, sat by me, and had me lay down, head in his lap, as I cried it out and caught my breath.

I wasn't sad. I wasn't upset. I wasn't angry. I was a little stressed (I am not enjoying the house selling and buying aspect of life, apparently).

I think I was, in part, very grateful. Our "worst case scenario" is moving back into that house if it doesn't sell. Millions of people world-wide would be blessed beyond all belief to have a sturdy four walls around them and clean water.

I think I was also overwhelmed. We had spent that whole day looking at beautiful houses in beautiful places. Houses with 3 car garages, stunning kitchens, duel walk-in closets, and basements. Houses that are within our reach.

Whether we walked into a house that beautiful beyond our dreams, or our own Stockard Street house, I really didn't care. I was content in either place, which was an overwhelming feeling. Just as long as it was ours. Just as long as we were together. That's all that mattered.

...and just as long as I don't have to let the dining room be taken over with fish tank accessories again.

Comments

  1. Aw, Chrissy. Transitions are hard. And I get way emotional about houses, too. Promise I've cried my fair share about houses! Will be praying for your move...and whatever house the Lord has for you, it will feel like home. :)

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