Chris and I built our dream house at the ripe old age of 32; a two-story, four-bedroom colonial house in an affluent neighborhood. Throughout the design process, Chris, essentially the foreman of the project, had afforded me every luxury. An upstairs laundry room, huge sun porch, granite countertops and bull-nosed wall trim. Everything down to the orange peel wall texture and silver vessel bathroom sink that I had fallen in love with.  But it was so much more than just the furnishings and cosmetic beauty of the house. It was to be in this home where we would raise our family.

So when we had to leave the house after only 11 months, it was devastating on so many levels. Not only did we have to say goodbye to our home, but we had to say goodbye to our daughter at the same time. Because a nightmare had occurred in our dream home.

We didn’t realize it at the time, but we’d spend the next six years bouncing around from relatives’ homes to friends’ homes and back to relatives’ homes (thank goodness for them!) Our therapist would frequently tell us we needed to find our “new normal.” But with all the chaos in our lives, all the devastation and loss, the instability and uncertainty, we just couldn’t seem to find that “new normal.”  Something was…missing.

Chris and I recently agreed that what was missing was a home.

Tonight, we bought that home. And our “new normal” is within our grasp.