I had to go back home recently, to the old home a few miles and heartache away. I hadn’t traveled there since late May, when after closing I’d drive through the neighborhood aimlessly–lost as a puppy who is taken from her litter prematurely.

It didn’t take long to realize this created more harm than good to the psyche.

Because really, how are we supposed to love where we’re at, while simultaneously clutched to a past no longer attainable?

So surprise, surprise when a bench I order from Target shows a delivery to my old address, and not the current one. How could this happen? Not a clue–either my error, or the gods working against me.

After awkward conversation with the new owners on my error, and permission granted for delivery, I walk up to the front porch and feel the searing stab of pain. Not for the obvious though of the porch being my place of respite during his illness, and the place of healing because this is where the anonymous bible lay awaiting my arrival.

No, standing there, I noticed the home’s return to its former state–as if we never resided there. Ever.

It reminded me of what once was–the cheesy decorations, a lawn full of weeds.

The lawn we brought back to life–hardly maintained.

The landscape–disheveled.

The front porch–cluttered.

I hurl the bench into the back and return home.

After a few trial and errors with instructions, I proudly place it in its new place–at the entry where it will welcome people into my home.

A home I feel ready to fill with moments of laughter and love and joy.

A home I feel ready to live life to the fullest again.

A home I feel ready to embrace whatever arrives on the front porch one day in the uncertain future.

While I can’t return to what once was, I can redefine what can be today.