This is Not My Beautiful House

There is a moment before the sun wakes, the air is crisp, and my spot under the weight and warmth of the covers is cozy; I am happy and at home. So happy in this place that I don’t want to move; I don’t want to fully wake and face the reality of the day. I’m free in this half-asleep state, free to dream of a time taken for granted the little things. I remember the feel of the cold tile beneath my feet and the sound of my dogs tap dancing around between my room and the back door alerting me to let them out, the rich smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, and that quiet time before the rest of the house wakes.

That quiet time does not belong to me here. This is not my beautiful home, I no longer have two feet, there is no sound of dogs tap dancing around. I’m back in the place I escaped at an early age, and once fully awake I ask myself how do I get the hell out of here. Every time the end seams near and my out is just around the corner things fall apart. I’ve struggled to get back to a home of my own with my daughter, a place for my son to come and spend his day off with my grandson. I want that moment in the morning before everyone is awake to sip coffee and contemplate my day in my own space.

Taking stock and being grateful is a step towards sanity and survival. I still have my right leg, and my little dog Rowdy sleeps at the end of my borrowed bed. He lives in an ignorant bliss that I can’t help but envy. There is always food without my ever going to the grocery store, decadent items I would never have bought myself, even the shampoo cost more than I would ever spend for the fleeting moment of pleasure it brings. My hair is soft and smells heavenly, and I’ve put on more then a few pounds since the pandemic began.

Last night I applied for at least a dozen jobs in vain after spending a better part of the day trying to convince those that hold the checkbook with the money from the sale of my home into buying the cheap condo we’ve been looking at. It is not my beautiful home, but it is a home I can call my own. The money is dwindling away and every month I have a little less than the month before. I need to move before there is nothing left. Their expectations remain high while my budget dwindles away. I pray for things to change before I must spend another Christmas without a home.

I still dream of a way out via motor home. I’m getting better at walking with the new prosthetic, it’s been eight months since I applied for disability and well over a year since I lost the leg. I’m having another surgery next week that is expected to block the nerves so I may get off of the pain medicine that gives little relief and muddies my thoughts. If approved, I can join their back to work program and will be more likely to get a job. The first check alone will be enough for me to get my daughter and I a used motor home. I can start over from there.

I’ve given this plan so much thought that there is a website ready to publish and a route mapped out for our first adventure. I’d like to spend several weeks each month traveling and writing about our journeys on the road post pandemic. We are still very much in the thick of COVID 19, and we will remain so until there is a vaccine, but most places are starting to reopen as we learn to live with social distancing. Venturing out just to go to the grocery store is different today as it was this time last year but not as frightening as it was a few short months ago. The death toll rises just the same but now we know more about how to protect ourselves. Most people are adapting to new social norms and it’s getting easier to get around safely, with the exception of a few crazy outliers that still think this is a hoax created to make them wear mask.

Human interactions are still far less than before this whole mess began and I’d like to reach out and meet new people and share their stories with others while visiting places I’ve never been before. Everything happens for a reason and maybe living contently in my beautiful home with exceptionally low overhead and hardly a care, was somehow keeping me from venturing out and seeing more of the world I live in.

In the meantime, I carved out a moment to exercise one of my few remaining freedoms. My doubts of being able to vote were weighing heavy on me. I barely got my new drivers license in time. I don’t have a home and wasn’t even counted on the census. I was shocked to find that I registered when applying for my new license. One leg down, unsteady on my prosthetic and unable to stand for long periods of time, my chances of voting were looking bleak. When I arrived at the church around the corner and parked in the handicap spot there was a sign with a number to call. They brought the vote to me. I was literally able to place my vote from my car. I wish that I could shout this from the rooftop, but my family is very much against my political choices and I am at their mercy while living here.

I will continue to look for remote work I can do from anywhere I have a quiet space and internet connection. I’ll try to get them to close on a space where my daughter can stay with me and my son can bring his family for visits. Maybe one day I can wake up and say, this is my beautiful house, and these are my beautiful kids with my beautiful grandkids, and I know how I got here.