The Third House

 

It took a while to process that the last house wasn't meant to be. God and I had a lot of one sided conversations after that. You know they say God sometimes doesn't answer your prayers because he's either trying to protect you from something or something better is coming.

So I took it to mean something better was coming.

We found another house on the same street as one of my son's best friends. Just three houses down.

Hallelujah! It's a sign!

It had the porch, the fireplace, the extra bedroom for my office, the Florida room, the back yard. It's all there. I did a little happy dance.

Could it be? Was this our house? It felt like it, but then so had the last house.

Why all the coincidences?

The kids and I couldn't stop talking about how much we loved the house. We even drove past it a couple of times. I imagined sitting white rocking chairs on the front porch, just like my brother had at his place before he died. It would be a tribute to him. My Kis-sy-fer.

Was he my guardian angel? Did he pick this house for us?

"Can we go live in our house now?" my youngest asked me.

"Baby, it's not our house yet."

"Why, why can't we just go live there?"

Again they had picked out their rooms. Again they had plotted their birthday parties and sleepovers. Again they plotted walking to their friend's house.

I didn't have a good answer. I was out of answers.

What I had was tears. Tears of anger, tears of frustration, tears of self-doubt.

This whole process was no longer fun. It was making me feel like a failure.

I'm mourning this house and everything it could have provided us in way of second chances.

I wanted to grow old on that street, in that house, and on that front porch.

Still waiting on house #4 to come along. Stay tuned . . .