Our House

Dedicated to:
All who have lost their homes in this recession, and furthermore those who have lost them because of the stubborn, ill-compassionate, rotten mortgage companies and the people that run them. This is especially dedicated to Heidi and Amy. If I had been blessed with riches, I would’ve saved your homes…

Our House

I can still see the evening summer sunlight coming in through my brother’s room and making the hallway glow. I remember asking my mother why there were “little floaty things” when the sun shined through the hallway. I had hoped she would say it was because of something magical, but she was honest and told me it was dust. Just dust. But it never looked like dust to me. It looked like heaven was spotlighting our sanctuary, the dust giving it this sort of movement and life, like the breath of angels. It’s an image that I will never forget.

There are people in this world who dream about success in a fashion that equals nothing less than being filthy, filthy rich. They dream of million dollar houses, ritzy sports cars with insurance payments that could feed a small country, gold threaded tapestries and carpets, million dollar wardrobes, and diamonds on the ceilings. Success is interpreted as “having everything” or “having all that you could ever want”. Bathing in gold coins sounds fun! But has anyone ever told them how heavy gold is? It can suffocate you.

The rest of us, however, dream of nothing more or less than owning a simple house we can call our own, a sanctuary to raise our children in, a hub for loved ones who need a vacation, a place we can meet, and live, and survive. We want nothing more than to build a home, a place where memories live forever because the environment is a constant reminder of the stories we’ve lived through. And most importantly, we want to hold onto these homes for the rest of our lives and never have to give them up. Some of us find these houses, these homes, but almost all of us have had to give them up and say goodbye. For anyone who has never lost a home, their roots, to an unwanted wind of change, you could never understand the grief that comes with it. For anyone who has lost their home to an unwanted wind of change, I understand that grief entirely.

“It’s just a house.” To some? Maybe. Not everyone builds a home in their house. Not everyone can walk through their halls and point out each scratch in the wall, or each mismatch doorknob, or every hideous picture hanging in an odd place and have a story to tell about it. Not everyone has had the successful endeavor of building both good and rotten memories in the same place, and only holding onto the good ones. Not everyone has had the success of healthy, happy, thankful, unspoiled children in an environment where they don’t “have everything” or don’t “have all that they could ever want”. Not everyone has had the success of creating a sentimental, soulful, meaningful sanctuary that becomes so much a part of the vitality of their hearts, that they mourn over the loss of it when it’s gone. They grieve, lay it to rest as if it was once a living, breathing thing. This, is the truest testament of our humanity.


Some of you may dream of giant mansions, a five car garage to fit all of your toys in, diamonds studded into everything you own, but the only thing I dream about is to find another hallway with sunlight and dust, angels’ breath breathing down into my home from heaven letting me know the home I have built for me and my family is safe and good. I had it once, we all have. And we can all have it again. It is okay to grieve. It is. But there is always hope and the pursuit of reincarnating what we’ve lost. Our house is ours for all time.