Ode to Hayward Street

After months of hot and cold activity, we signed papers today accepting the offer on our house.


The reality of loss sets in with a crushing weight, even though I have not slept there in months. No matter the justifications that this move is necessary, in spite of the assurances that all will turn out for the better, the door closes on hopes and dreams of 20 years that culminated in this house we designed together.

Our children chased each other through the rough framing as little ones, and scratched the softwood floor with their new scooters on a Christmas morning. Now, one is off to college, off to a new life all her own, returning at Thanksgiving to a home she has never seen. Now, the other has grown taller than me, his voice changed, his heart grown huge, his smile so proud when he slips the ball between my feet and races past in our soccer games.

Soon, three new children will spend their years here, snuggled on their parents’ bed during thunderstorms, learning about homework and hard work, readying for prom. In summer, they will fend off mosquitoes around the playhouse. On cold winter nights, they will eat popcorn, staring into the fireplace we built to fulfill a promise I made when we agreed to move to Vermont.

I could not imagine a better family to take our place. To truly be a Home, the house deserves such happiness and laughter. The central dining/kitchen/living area is all one space to support a busy family immersed together in the multi-activities of daily lives. Upstairs are rooms to find a little quiet and space to think alone. Above is a studio with Lake view (in winter) to create and express passion, and below is a basement for tinkering, and a teen haven we will never see.

Our family moves in different directions now, challenged to find our different ways, and still be family for all the important events in life.

Those delicious comments on my last entry are absorbed deeply with gratitude. This process of writing so honestly from the heart does make me seem hard on myself and in need of encouragement, but it is the process necessary when—despite all warnings to the contrary--the horse slides/is pushed out from under and one stands soaking wet in the middle of the torrent.

How do you decide which bank to swim for? Will you ever find Home again? Is it actually easier to just let go, submerge, and allow the embrace of the water to quiet all the questions? Can one ever dare to try another ride, either in that same saddle again, or on a horse colored differently?

It is important for me to understand that this house would not be changing hands had I made different choices about nailing the studs together and spreading mud over the sheetrock. My hands got dirty, for sure, but are cleaning up well. Still, cracks have appeared and some details of trim need to be finally finished before the new family can move in.

I love the home we built. I will miss it--and the family who lived there--with all my heart. I am proud of the man who built it and all that he tried to do. Even so--especially so--there are parts of him I have to fix. Embracing the act of writing has illuminated some of the dark corners, and in that light, the shadows have lessened. In celebration, I unpack my guitar and sing with ever clearer voice and more nimble fingers.

I am so grateful that there are those of you, Online and Inlife, who seem to like what you hear, and choose to sing along.

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