On Saturday morning we got up at 3:30 AM and made our way to the airport to escape for several days. This was my surprise Christmas gift to Jim. After three years, I thought it was time for him to return to Dallas. It was time to reconnect with special friends, to reflect on where we have come from and dream about where we are going. It was time to eat Mexican food and do lots of shopping (even if it is without lots of money) and it was time to give many, many hugs.
It was time to return home.
I had no idea that we would do this so literally. After a delicious lunch at La Madeleine (which in and of itself brought back lots of memories of life before kids), I asked my friend Erin if she would chauffeur us by our old house so I could look at it. After sitting in front of the house for an eternity, we worried that the new owner would call the police, so I decided to get out to take a quick picture before leaving. As I was getting back into the car, the new owner of the house walked out. I jumped out of the car and walked over to introduce myself. I let him know that we had owned the house three years ago and just wanted to look at it. The man was really nice, let us know that they had just moved in this past June, having bought the house from the man we sold it to, and before I knew it he had invited us inside! (Who does that?!)
Our house in Dallas was our first home, and it is the house where we brought Brennan home for the first time. It is full of our handiwork, our dreams, and our memories. Many things happened while we lived in that house that have shaped who we are today. I'll never forget closing the door on that house for the last time and feeling like I was leaving a piece of myself inside.
Just three months after we sold our house, we received several phone calls from our neighbors that a horrible thing had happened. The man we sold the house to had had a friend visiting from Chicago. The visitor and his girlfriend (?) got into an argument, the visitor pulled a gun, and in the end, the man came out with a gun pointed at the police. He was shot dead on the front stoop of our house.
To say that this tragedy rattled me would be a huge understatement. In my heart, it was still my house. We didn't have permanent housing yet in Nashville, and I hadn't transitioned yet. It had only been a few months. Someone had violated my home. He had made my beautiful, safe place feel scary and ugly. I couldn't stop picturing blood all over the white walls and tile in the entryway.
As we walked in the front door of the house, I was overcome with emotion. The walls had been painted a beautiful tan color and hung with welcoming artwork. Each room looked so different from when we had left it just three years ago, but the rooms looked safe and cared for. All of the horrible, scary things I had imagined started to go away. I couldn't help myself and started to quietly cry.
The new homeowner said that this was his first home with his wife, and they looked forward to starting a family together there. He had already done lots of projects (many that we had wished we could do ourselves), and it was clear that he took pride in his home.
I was thankful that there were still remnants of us in the house. The lights that Jim had added and rewired, the floors, the beautiful tile work in the bathroom... The owner said that they enjoyed those things, and the bathroom had been a selling feature for the house. It was not our house anymore, but our efforts had not been eradicated.
This whole trip was supposed to be about reconnecting and moving on. I could never have guessed that God would have something like this up His sleeve. I have closure on something I didn't know I even needed, and I am so, so grateful.
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