There is so much story to tell from where I sit. I haven’t written in so long. I have been blocked in more ways than one. The story has been bubbling, and I had to wait for a milestone to pass. I refused to start writing, before the finish line, out of fear I would jinx it. It was fear of a pain that I have known so well. I lost so many hours of sleep, laying awake, wheels turning with all the what-ifs…….
In 1979, when I was 1 week old, I met the man who would later adopt me. It was love at first sight. We were meant to be. At just 6 weeks old, that man drove me, and my mother, to meet the family. Apparently, as the story goes, my Grandmother spread the word, like wild fire. “Dougie” was bringing his girlfriend and her baby down. Well…..Gram had the house lined with people. Friends. Family. Neighbors. All eyes waiting to get a look at that little baby.
What happened on that day, was nothing short of God’s will. I entered the house that would be my family. The people accepted me in a split second and they NEVER looked back. They NEVER made even a hint that I was not their true family. They would literally become the most important, and influential people in my life. They were my teachers of the sea, of unconditional love peppered with dysfunction, teachers of the garden, laughter, acceptance, tough love, patience. I am me, because of them.
However, it was not just the people that became family. It was the place. The house. The sea. The culture. The connection.
From where I sit I look out at my favorite place in the world. I look out at the cove where my Grandmother was raised, and her dad was raised, and my dad was raised, and I, and now my kids are the sixth generation. That is priceless. The connection to the sea, to this house, to the heritage that I have been blessed to be a part of is almost indescribable.
This house that I live in was lost in my parents’ divorce. It was ugly. It was awful. The pain that the loss of this house brought with it took my breath away. I will never forget the way my heart dropped out of my chest, the day my dad sat me down to tell me the news of foreclosure. My sister and I tried to save it, but we were young and just didn’t have time to put our ducks in a row, and make it work. It was pure devastation. The house that many of our family members have called home, was lost. I turned to beers and landed myself in jail with an OUI……it was a bit downhill for awhile. Myself, my Grandmother, my dad, and my two younger sisters were all displaced. Life is a journey and there is a reason for everything.
Later in my life, as a married woman, the situation presented itself for us to potentially buy this house back. I remember saying no to my husband. I couldn’t even bare the thought of the loan not being approved. I couldn’t take my heart down that road. I had stopped driving to this neighborhood for years, because the pain was so great I couldn’t bare it. Well…..we plugged on and were able to buy this house and move our family in. I remember putting my rocking chair near the window, and just putting unpacking on hold for days. Sitting there as much as I could and just letting that reality set in. We did it. I was home.
A couple of years ago my husband and I separated. It has not been an easy road. I am not going to sort out the details of it here. I will say that it has taken me to places that I have never been before. So low. So fucking low. It has been a lot to sort through and certainly isn’t 100% healed. I have made some choices along the way that probably didn’t make sense to some people, but it was part of my personal journey. So, here we are…….
I have been in the refinance process for around five months. It was grueling! I had planned ahead last spring, and knew that I would need to take on any work I could manage to fit into my schedule, around raising 6 kids (5 of my own and 1 foster). I taught Yoga, many classes a week. I cleaned houses, many. I painted interior walls for people. I mowed lawns. I gathered herbs, and made so many potions. The mortgage company hemmed and hawed……”We need this.” …….”It isn’t enough”…….”You need a co-signer”………”We need more papers.”……….”You don’t need a co-signer”………………….”You need a pile of $$$ to close.”……….
It kept me awake at night.
It drained me.
I revisited trauma.
I cried.
I prayed.
I held my father’s head in my hands as he breathed his last breath, in May. In August we spread his ashes here in this cove. I. COULD. NOT. LOSE. MY. HOUSE. TOO.
There is a God. God is good.
I DID IT!!!! On Monday I signed. It is over. My Gram’s house is my house. Every scrubbed toilet, and shower, and painted wall, and blade of grass, and Yoga class, and every single potion sold, made the difference. I can breathe. I can sleep. I did it. I am home. And I am not going anywhere! I have known deeply in my being that I am to be an old lady here. A salty, wise, weathered, whiskey drinking, card playing, old lady, with an open door just as my Gram would want it.
The gratitude I have for every one of you who have supported my wee business, is beyond words. Whether you have purchased anything or not, your presence has kept me moving forward. You encouraged me to keep showing up and offering my gifts. You have made a difference, a huge difference in my life, and the lives of my children, and you have blessed my neighbors as well!! They are thrilled that we aren’t going anywhere. You have helped me save my little house by the sea. The future is brighter.
So much love.
Thank you for reading,
Kelly Jo
