For more than six months I had been anticipating that I would be leaving Vermont after living here for 27 years, roughly a third of my life in the only place I’ve ever considered home.
My beloved and I arrived on Halloween 1993. For the sake of a good story, I planned to officially head for my new abode on Halloween this year, some fifteen months after her suicide.
Suddenly, on July 2nd, that plan evaporated. No new digs would be awaiting.
One of my first thoughts was, “I gotta buy a home.” Which, amazingly to me, I was able to do in 24 hours.
For months, among the ways I had been managing both the heartbreak of leaving Vermont and the uncertainty of the new life I was willing to embrace was exploring online all the homesteads for sale in the state within a price range this side of impossible.
I had no intention of buying anything. I wanted soothing, to better feel my heart’s request to be open to dramatic change at a time I was already dealing with less than a full deck in the wake of Dear’s death.
Zillow and the websites of realtors became frequent sources of comfort. First as distraction. Then, unexpectedly, introduction to a whole new sense of why the first thing I said to myself upon moving here in ’93 was, “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” The state’s distinct forms of beauty and kinship have been invaluable to my mountainous road of self-discovery.
As it turns out, months of expanding my rapport with Vermont through the lens of real estate made it easy for me to quickly select a few solid candidates as my next home. And because Covid-19 has triggered an unprecedented influx of prospective home buyers attempting to flee more densely populated communities, my willingness to say on the spot, “I’ll take it,” was a virtue.
Still, have I mentioned I’m not exactly dealing with a full deck?
The love of my life of 45 years, the sanest, funniest most loving person I know, felt obliged to leave her body after 14 months of brutal depression. In the presence of mystery breathtaking in its power, I regularly wonder, “Just how able am I to make sensible decisions?” A pervasive void overlays every consideration.
Which is why I welcome cloud-parting signs of support from the universe. In fact, I pray for them. Sometimes beg.
And for who knows what reason, every so often my petition is granted. Never before, however, has it come in the form of a garage.
In 2006, at the home we lived in for 20 years, my beloved built a barn for her horses. As barns are for any true horse person, hers was a haven of the heart at the center of her daily life. When we moved from that home to this one in 2015, she gifted her barn to friends for use on their farm. All they had to do was move it. That was easier said than done for this young family. Despite good intentions, the barn remained abandoned.
Upon Dear’s death last year I assumed responsibility for giving the barn a future that would suitably honor the love that created it. This past winter I offered it to our builder friend, Smokey, who has been a rock of skill and kindness all the years we’ve lived in Vermont. “It’s yours if you want it,” I said, “so long as you can move it before the coming winter.” “Consider it done,” he said. That move has been actively in the works since Spring.
Meanwhile, soon after the 4th of July when my offer on the new home was accepted, I began talking to Smokey about some immediate modifications to the place I’d like to make upon taking possession in September. One being the addition of a garage.
Not two weeks later––marking the one year anniversary of Dear’s death––the clouds part.
Smokey says, “I’ve been thinking. Instead of giving me the barn, why don’t we move it to your new place and make it your garage. You’ll save a lot in material costs. Plus you’ll have Dear’s spirit with you in a way like no other.”
He might as well have said, “Imagine: every time you come home you’ll be driving into her arms.”
Beautiful, my friend. Tears in my eyes.
I awoke thinking of Dear, as I often do. Reflecting on how we share the same birth month. I still get my weekly reminders for my ‘Dear chat’ as it’s labelled on my phone calendar. Not ditching that, for sure. Love you Steve
The kindness of friends is irreplaceable.
Coincidentally, Steve, I have just sold Tricia’s and my gorgeous home and now have a blank residential canvas!
Ah, what a lovely term, “blank residential canvas,” e.g., stepping into the unknown, in your case with a reliable inner compass and a smile
Just Wow…and Wow! Not only am I profoundly happy for you, but take great heart from this “parting of the clouds” story – as I watch for clouds to part in my own life. You inspire me on a very regular basis. Thanks
Colleen (just one of your Minnesota connections)
Beautiful story of your mutual love. You are strong.
Oh my goodness, Steve: Dear’s joy & magic continues to surround you, and it always will.
This entry is so powerfully moving: bless you, Steve.
I hope, as you emerge on the other side of this swell, that you’ll give a TedTalk on your journey through Dear’s suicide, and your healing after. You have NO idea how much your story has helped me, Steve.
Love. . . it stays around. Beautiful friend that Smokey. Beautiful love between you and Dear who whispered in Smokey’s ear.
Amen.
Beautiful story spoken in only the way you have with words.
Virtual hug,
Judy
This is wonderful.
Goosebumps.
xo, Sally.
Welcome home again, Steve!
Steve my. Friend, what a lovely story! I’m happy to hear that you are staying in Vt! Hopefully in the future, we’ll meet again! Take care & God Bless you, much love, Sally
15 months for me as well……. always alert to the mysterious workings of the All………. Thank you
So beautiful Steve! And such a great way to honor her and stay connected to her. Love always, Fred
So grateful you will always find your way home ❤️