Samantha Thomas
There sits a row of three houses.
The one to the right freshly painted, beautiful flowers growing in its window boxes. The sun shines warmly over that house almost everyday. Laughter and music accompany the delicious smells of home cooking, which pour out from within filling the surrounding air.
The house to the left sits in utter devastation. A massive explosion occurred, every brick used to build the once love filled walls, now lays crumbled; in smoldering ruin. The family that’s left, fishes through the ashes searching for a single fragment of what they formerly had. They are fed with the smallest of scraps, discarded by the house on the right. There is no hope of rebuilding what had previously stood. Although bonded by blood, the true relationships that were had, have all but gone to the wayside. They exist in survival only, without a shred of true love left between them.
You sit on decaying front porch steps, situated directly in the crux of bliss and chaos. Dying rose bushes line the front, a now pathetic reminder of the majesty that so recently existed here. Everyday another brick tumbles down, a new crack appears in the drywall. The leak in the roof trickles down, injecting toxicity deep within the core. The family living here is worn down. Day after day, seldom a meaningful improvement is seen. Each time you find a fix, 3 new issues arise in their place. You’ve grown distrusting of anyone who offers help with repairs. So many of those that came before, brought only false hope or pure dishonesty. These people are fed, bathed and clothed. Modestly, yet enough to keep them within the social constructs surrounding them. One thing still stands unchanged, the love in this home has never faltered. What previously stood was so pure, not a blemish to be seen; with immense strength. No amount of time will erode that.
From the home in the middle, you look to the right, a reminder of the days not so long ago... so similar to your own. Every so often a flower in their garden dies, or a cloud passes above. Just as quickly as those things come, the rain briefly falls and then the sky clears; a new flower grows in its place. Having a clear view of this home, the grandness of what your former home once was, spurns hope it may one day be rebuilt. Not in the exact same form or fashion, because as time goes on, life changes; inevitably. The hope of this rebirth shining in the sun, filling the air with goodness, and warming the hearts of those living within.
Turning to the left brings with it guilt. The guilt of having ever fret over the issues your own home faces. Your dwelling may not be crisply painted with lavish gardens, the roof may leak when they rain gets heavy. But your home is strong, it stands and protects you from the storms. When the nights get cold and dark, it keeps you warm and sheltered. You notice the family, unable to find the love that was shared, in what is now a time of despair. Another reminder that when your foundation is shaking and seems moments from collapse, the love inside keeps it stable and standing. It may not be the home you originally built, nor how you planned on living. That doesn’t make it any less yours, or decrease its value. Despite the tougher times, you will protect that home at all costs. You make sure every minute of everyday is spent fixing and rebuilding, no matter the time or energy it takes. Forever grateful being spared this level of destruction.
I live in that middle house. The walls have been broken a million ways. When the rain is relentless, the roof doesn’t just leak, it washes down the walls wave upon wave soaking through to the floors below. We diligently fix and mend one crack at a time, only to watch the crack splinter in 3 new directions. For a person who is naturally untrusting, letting anyone in to help is exhausting. Seemingly unworthy of the risk; or time. Living with the never ending fear that the foundation is going to fracture, and everything come crashing down. Its the love inside that is so strong, it holds up the beams and walls, even when the nails and screws seem too weak to keep things together.
I long for the life we had, that I still see so often around us. Then, I look at the world around us, some people we know well, others just know of. Instantly I am profoundly grateful for what we still have. Unendingly privileged to have lived the life we did, for all the years we had. The hope of regaining the life of the past, is admittedly futile. Never the less, it will always be there. Possibly in another time, or iteration, it can be created again. Never like what stood before. Instead in a new and equally enchanting version. The roaring fire built on the love shared, is strong enough to keep us warm for as long as we need.
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