The Face of Foreclosure

Sitting on the couch, feeling quite childlike, I try to hide the tears rolling off my cheeks. It doesn't help that I have been waiting for this day, anticipating its arrival for nearly a year. I do not feel better even though I had prepared for this, maybe preparation was a fantasy.

Perhaps the pain that I feel is all part of the grieving process; I wasn't allowed to completely grieve for my Dad because of his presence in this house. I miss him dearly and do grieve for him, but I had hit the pause button on my "Emote Control". Living in his house, sitting in his chair, keeping warm under his softest blankets, and lying my head on his tattered feather pillows every night had provided me a sense of comfort.

Dad foolishly built his empire out of sticks, and today the cold winter winds of the high desert began carrying away the walls. As much as I hate this place I can't imagine watching as the last piece of kindling takes flight in the winds of change.

The paperwork reads as though I refused to make the scheduled payments, I wish that were true. It would not change the outcome at all but it might have felt differently if only I had made the decision to let the house go. Hindsight is kicking me again, why didn't I realize it would be harder to leave under duress?

The letters are written by the mortgage company, but it isn't their fault. They don't make laws bendable for unique circumstances, nor do they look at any case with morality in mind. To me, they are taking my Daddy's house because they refused to talk to me; to them I am in default for non payment. The truth, as usual, lies somewhere in the middle where the privacy act says they can't talk to me and my financial situation says I can't obtain the proper paperwork. It is a viscous cycle that can't end until I walk away from here, no regrets.

In all reality I have nothing to regret as far as this house goes. I will have been able to spend an entire year reminiscing him, feeling his presence. Despite the sadness involved with leaving here I know that the time has come to move on. I will finally be able to find a place that I can feel secure in, a place to call home.

I don't know anyone who would choose a house over a home in order to feed their selfish desire to hold on to a loved one. In the height of despair we tend to forget about the portability of memories. There is no need to hold on to anything material, the memories are within our hearts not their stuff.

As I leave this house I must remember that Dad lives on through those he loved, not through his possessions. It's time to say goodbye to the marks he left within these walls and cut my baggage down to the marks that he left within me. Comfort will come through building an empire of my own, hopefully out of brick.