About Moxie Girl Musings

Moxie Girl Musings is about starting over from square one after tragedy impacted my young family. It's filled with stories of triumph, struggle, snafus, hopes, and dreams. Sometimes there will be features from other writers that I like and every so often I'll include an original short story, but normally I simply write what's on my mind at the time. Welcome to my unfiltered true-life story as I figure out this thing called life. http://www.amberleaeaston.com

Monday, January 4, 2016

If These Walls Could Talk #MondayBlogs

Time is an elusive and fleeting thing. It seems like just yesterday I was a wife, secure in my home and my life, with two very cute little kids who were my main priority. Now here I am, a widow, with my daughter a sophomore in college and my son about to graduate high school. This year will be about major changes and transforming my definition of 'normal.' What will this new normal look like?

I used to say that I would sell my place in the mountains, move to the Caribbean and open a beach bar when this time came around. It sounded like a great idea...five years ago...and perhaps it still sounds good to me on some level, but now things have changed.

I've changed.

I look at my home and remember...

My late husband and I walking through it with the realtor, nervous about the idea of buying our first home and talking about all the what-ifs.

I hear the plans we made for the addition that remains in the back of my mind--never having been done.

I see us sitting at a table signing all the paperwork and remember leaving and looking at each other with both excitement and fear. Our first house! Our first mortgage! Oh, the dreams we had in that moment. I see it as clear as day. My young handsome husband laughing as we drove away from the office with keys in our hands.

I remember the kids sledding with their dad down our hill--he'd built them a ramp and I was a wimp about it, overly concerned about them breaking their necks rather than jumping in to join the fun.

Oh, and all the laughter we had in the summers around the fire pit outside when my little girl, probably about five years old, strumming on her guitar and seranding us. She used to always put on shows.

I remember my husband taking his last breath here--the coroner arriving after the police. The chaos. The spring thunderstorm--the rain had poured and poured that night. I see me hugging his body for the last time before the coroner took him away. I held on so tight, knowing I would never touch him again. I promised him that I would make sure that the kids never forgot him, that I would be the keeper of memories, the storyteller extraordinaire.

And I have kept my promise. 

I hear the sound of the kids having parties here--the laughter of high-pitched, giddy children's laughter that always makes the world seem better in some way.

I see my kids learning to drive in our driveway and me trying to hide my fear.

I see my dog, Taz, the first puppy I ever had of my own being put down on our deck because his arthritis had spread up his spine. The kids cried and I stroked his hair as he passed on, telling him what a good buddy he'd been and how we'd never forget him.

And we never have.

I hear myself sobbing alone on the bedroom floor, broken, terrified, uncertain about how I would ever rebuild my life as I watched the bank account drain and my own health deteriorate under the stress of being an only parent who'd quit her corporate job years ago to take care of the kids and now had been deemed unhireable and...undesirable. I see myself gripping the carpet, tears flowing unheeded down my face, body convulsing with despair, the darkness so overwhelming I could only surrender to it.

I see my daughter dressed in her high school graduation gown, nervous and beautiful, and remember how damn proud I was of her then...and now.

I hear the laughter generated from all the games we played here--cards, Wii, board games, fetch with the dogs.

This house is my home. Within these walls, we've lived a life. Our life. Good, bad, terrifying, and real. My life.

Yes, this year will be a time of great changes. Come August, both kids will be in college and I'll be here alone with my new dogs--both puppies. Some tell me to go, move to a condo, find that beach bar and start over...but I don't know if that's what I want anymore.

I've changed...and I'm just now learning who this new me is.

Peace to you!
Amber Lea Easton
http://www.amberleaeaston.com 
Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published author of romantic thrillers, contemporary romance, women's fiction, and nonfiction. In addition, she is a professional editor and mother of two extraordinary human beings. She currently lives in a small cabin high in the Rocky Mountains where she is completely aware of how lucky she is. To find out more about her books, please visit http://www.amberleaeaston.com.





9 comments:

  1. That is very powerful, I cannot imagine what it is like to lose someone that close.

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  2. Beautiful! You are a true storyteller. I'm sorry so for your loss. I know your story will resonate with so many people.

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  3. I understand completely. I lost a son and I couldn't bear to move from our house. Thank you for sharing this.

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    1. So sorry for you loss, Gale. For years I've thought I would eagerly move once my youngest graduated, but now that that time is approaching, I'm becoming much more reflective about what this house really means to me.

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  4. Powerful! I've walked in similar shoes, is there a greater darkness than being so awfully alone and responsible? I still think there's a beach, maybe a bar, or an island newspaper that could use your talent. Maybe it's not forever, but I think you'd love the experience. Myself? I opted to buy a boat and live aboard for ten years with my Chesapeake Bay Retriever. It was only later that I was privileged to realize my dream of having a house in the Caribbean. It's kind of like your sledding hill, you'll wonder why you were so afraid and waited so long. Thanks for sharing your innermost feelings, you're sure to touch someone's heart. Oh, and check out the blog Women Who live on Rocks (on FB or just Goggle). Hugs, Barb. B.

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  5. Your bravery is so commendable. I admire your openness with your emotions because that is something I could never do. However, I could open a bar in the Caribbean & that has been my lifelong ambition, so maybe we should chat. You are fab! xoxo

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  6. You're so strong to share your emotions with us. Your posts are inspirational.
    Thank you!

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