My House

We are currently renovating this 111 year old house. The first time I went inside I knew it had good energy. I’ve since met many people who fondly remember the previous owner—she died quickly from an aggressive form of cancer. She had a quirky sense of interior design evidenced by the house’s orange and purple walls and ceilings. She also engaged with the arts community and I have a feeling we would’ve liked each other. She will forever be a part of the house‘s structure and soul, as will the others who lived there before her. 

We are preserving much of the original house, but it needs a lot of repair. We are reinforcing the foundation, building new walls, fixing the roof to prevent leaks, adding new electrical wiring, replacing blocked plumbing lines, and painting new color on the walls. We’re keeping the house’s original wood floors that are beautifully worn from being walked on by families for over a century. I also love the original crystal door knobs, which hold the energy of the hands of countless children, parents, family, and friends. 

I had a dream last night about how I am like the house we are renovating. My own house, my body, is also going through a transformation. Its previous occupant, my baby Ellis, no longer resides in the house, though similarly he will always be a part of it. This is true in a physical way—I read somewhere that when a baby is born, the child’s DNA forever remains in the mother’s body. 

My house is going through its own renovation. My crumbled foundation—my plans, my hopes, my dreams—is now being reinforced with new posts to support the interior walls that protect my healing heart. My roof had holes where many tears poured through, but slowly each hole is being patched. My electrical wiring is being reconnected and redirected, producing a stronger, steadier current of energy. My pipelines now bring fresh water to my soul, where before they had temporarily run dry.

Many people have helped to rebuild my house—the doctors and nurses who took care of me, and also the community of people who came together to paint new color on my walls, bring flowers to brighten my interior rooms, and prepare meals for my table. Because of this, my house is becoming stronger and more beautiful each day, and proudly displays the scars that tell the story of its former beloved inhabitant, our precious son Ellis.

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