Home Sweet Home

It would appear that 1980s hair bands tend to inspire most of my posts.

Before it was Poison and now it is Motley Crue.  In listening to the song "Home Sweet Home" I got to thinking about what home, or my house, has meant to me, in particular during my recovery.  I never really thought about my house very deeply before my accident.  I wasn't really the homebody type, more of the out and about kind.  In fact, I wanted to sell the house and live out of an RV.  But that changed when I got hurt.  Recovery sure would have been interesting in an RV.  Surely I wouldn't have enjoyed it.  So the house was right choice.  I think.

As I have written before, one of the stressful moments of my recovery was when we had to move 2 weeks after my accident.  Being at my former house was comfortable and familiar but it was an older home with no bathroom on the main level.  After the injury, I spent most of my time on the main level, including nighttime, so it presented a challenge because I had to crutch up the stairs when I had to "go".  And given I was completely non-weight bearing, going up and down steps was not easy.

Sometimes I just asked for a ride to the local coffee shop to use the bathroom.  Pretty sad moment.  Additionally, the house had a shower with a tub - also on the second floor - which made it impossible for me to take a shower because I couldn't get my bad leg over and into the tub.  Thus I was forced to go and take a shower at my mother in law's.  Another sad moment.  Moreover, my wife had to drive me to my mother in law's to a take a shower.  Yet another sad moment.

I did, however, feel as if I belonged there and it was an appropriate place to carry out the rest of my healing process.  It felt, quite simply, like home.  We moved into our first house 2 weeks after we were married and lived there for 8 years.  All of my 3 kids were born when we lived in the house.  We grew into a family in the house.  We did projects and made changes and made it our own.  It was full of memories.  It was a cozy house built in the 1920s that wrapped itself around you.  But it was no longer practical.  It was a great home for 4 people but really tight for 5.  We could no longer creatively make use of the limited space.  Every room was tapped, including the basement.

After selling our house to a nice young couple, we moved to a new house with all the needed creature comforts of a bruised and battered individual.  I could use the bathroom on the main level.  I could enter into the stand alone shower without assistance and comfortably sit and use a shower chair.  From a physical comfort standpoint, the move was needed and a much welcomed change of environment.

In addition, it was a good house and not a dramatic change from a location perspective.  It was a block and half away from our old house.  It was well maintained and owned by the same family for almost 90 years.  It was the same style as our old house only bigger.  It had all the woodwork and hardwood floors that we liked.  Our daily lives would not change.  Commutes would be the same.  Routes to school would be the same.  Friends would remain the same.

However, emotionally speaking it was odd.  In some ways, I felt like we didn't belong there.  Maybe it was the injury speaking but it was now my home and I could only associate with it as an injured person.  I had never enjoyed new kids or or happy memories or birthdays or anniversaries or holidays or just the mundane morning routine.  I had nothing grounding me there.  I felt like a foreigner.  I felt lost.  The house almost felt sterile, practically banal.  I felt like I did in the hospital.

Even when we got some new appliances and painted some rooms and put in a new patio and fence and sod in the backyard, it felt like the home belonged someone other than me.  And perhaps that is always the case in a new house.  Perhaps it takes time to make it go from a house to a home.  Perhaps only time can bring memories and parties and help the home wrap its arms around you and become part of you.  And sometimes that can happen quickly.  When you feel healthy and confident and normal.  When you aren't, you feel like stranger in your own home.

And that was how I felt because I was hurt.  And then we had an issue with the toilet.  Then a few lights didn't work.  Then we got a little water in the basement.  And then we had a nasty property dispute with our next door neighbor.  Then the stress got worse.  Then the kids called the lady next door, "the bad lady."

Then I wanted to sell the house.  Then I knew it wasn't our home.  It was a mistake.  I was hurt and all these annoying things were happening.  I was hurt and needed to be in a comfortable, stress free place where I could recover and care for my family.  I was hurt and I hated being at home.  Now, I might as well have been living a million miles from home.  And I couldn't really go anywhere because I was on crutches and getting out wasn't easy.  I was stuck at home I didn't want with a body that didn't work and a head that made Nick Nolte seem sane.

I didn't know what to do.

Then, like anything else in recovery, time seemed to change everything.

I wish I could say I had an epiphany or we mended fences with the lady next door.  I didn't.  We didn't.  We didn't take a vacation and get a better appreciation for home.  We simply made some memories and had an anniversary and a couple of birthdays and Christmas. We decorated the house for holidays.  We had some laughs.  We had a few hundred morning routines.  My injury got better and I felt more comfortable.  The seasons changed and we fell in love with our fireplace and brand new windows.  We watched the snow fall and watched movies.  The house became what we first saw in it.  The house reminded us why we bought it.  The house became part of us and we became part of the house.

And I began to notice that at home is where I didn't have as much pain.  I didn't seem to limp as much as I did outside the house.  It became a bit of refuge.  I really liked working from there.  I really liked being there.  I slept well and I felt at peace when I was there.  It is now, odd enough, to the point where I need to remind myself that I need to leave more often and going to the office is good for my spirit and my career.  Home is a place to come back to, not a place to hide.

I know many bruised and battered become shut-ins perhaps because their house is so comfortable and peaceful.  We all need that.  Or because it is too much to get out.  I what it is like to only feel at peace with myself when I am at home.  And I know what it feels like not to have a home you want to go home to..  But as much as we need a home, we need to live too.  So use it as a place to refuel for your life.

In the end, I think I have learned what a house really is and how much I appreciate the house that I have.  And as much as this house and I got off to a rocky start, we have grown to love each other.  I understand the house better and its creaks and its quirks and all the things that make it unique.  I understand that a house, just like its owners, is not perfect.  And that is okay.  Because imperfect or not, we as a family need it to work and play and cook and care for each other.  We needed it to become a home and it is our home now.  And it has helped me recover - little by little - better than any other place could.

I have often said that people don't really own these old homes, they just act as caretakers for a while.  A few months ago I would have gladly given up my responsibilities for a song.  But now I know we were meant to live in this house and we were destined to be together.  Just as my accident has become part of me so has my new home.

It gives new meaning to the song "Home Sweet Home"... The song couldn't have been sung by a more aptly named band.    A Motley Crew is exactly what my family has become, thanks to our new house.

Thanks for reading...