The House Is Complete

I stayed in the house for the first time. All alone in a new house. I did not say “home” because it does not feel like home yet. I often wonder if anyplace will ever feel that way again. I look around at the architecture, the woodwork, the view; and I am filled with awe. My heart is so full I worry that it may crumble into pieces yet again. I am stirred by several factors. Many times I have moved into a new house, but this is the first time that my son was the builder. Each time I enter the house I see him wonder. I can tell that he is anxious to see if I think this house is as wonderful a structure as his dad would have built. How can I assure him that it is so much more? I ache for James to see what his son has accomplished. I know that I have never been more proud of a house. The house is complete but there are questions that linger. What do I do now with this house and its breath-taking view of Lake Jacksonville? The construction is the first thing that I have tackled completely without James that is so much like James. The house is a symbol to me and to my kids and it will continue to show us that James is still around. He is here in the courage it took for Bud to create without being able to consult with his hero. He is here in the glue that bonds my kids together as they smile and laugh and reminisce in this place that James has never touched. He is here when Halle says to me that she feels an angel and she knows that it is Big J. He is here when I look in baby Gretchen’s blue eyes, those that James has never seen, and they smile back at me. And so I have come to realize that he will always be with me no matter where “here” is. The house is complete. Is another beginning just around the corner? What comes next? What do I do with the house? I am not sure that I possess the courage that it takes to stop and make time to look, listen, and yearn for what comes next. Over the past two years, I have managed to only think about one day at a time. But now, the house is complete and the question “what comes next” keeps looming in my mind. The question is daunting. By reliving these stories of the Sunday lunches in my life, I understand a little better now that how we act toward what has just ended has an effect on determining the next beginning. I hope that as I try to tackle another beginning, my kids will be able to see the pride I have in them just by watching my actions. I will take pleasure in watching the glue that bonds all four of them become even stronger as they continue to rely on each other. I will treasure the amazing parenting that is on constant display as I hold my grandkids. I will soak up the innocence from new, smiling eyes, and I will learn to listen for angels. I will look with courage for what comes next and know that I will not ever be totally alone. The house is complete. My fairy tale prince charming is gone, but the good he gave me is still here. It is through the strength of what the prince left behind, that I will learn to start again.

Out of tragedy, good seems to follow in some form. It is strange to think that had I not moved to Austin, Texas, I would have never met my new colleagues from work there. They are definitely part of the treasure that I have discovered on this journey without my husband. I feel as though I have known them forever, and yet they know me without ever having known me with James by my side. There are days when I wonder how that can be. It is on those days when I think that I have reached the beginning of an end. The end of one life and the beginning of another. The house is complete. I am beginning to feel a need to start again. Will I find the courage to turn the page and start the next chapter? Will there be another fairy tale in my future? Will I be able to sustain courage for as long as it takes to again find a comfortable place? Will I ever find a home in another house? The nodding assent of my head is barely there, but now I finally feel the faint movement when I ask myself these questions. I rely on my memory of James and one of his last beginnings to gain the direction I will need to continue. He was working on our next home. James possessed more stamina and perseverance than any other individual I have ever known. He created beautiful houses and seemed to do so effortlessly. Any casual observer could not possibly comprehend that every part of the construction on the house came from his hands alone. He built forms, did the plumbing, single-handedly raised walls for framing the structure, strung the wires for electricity, molded cabinets and trim, and tackled any other jobs that were necessary to complete the house. Including laying the stone for its exterior. I stood and watched as he mixed the mortar in the old, scarred wheel-barrow. His faded red t-shirt was drenched with perspiration. His white socks barely showed above his work boots and were covered with sawdust. His green ventilated hat was perched on top of his head. His tool belt was securely fastened atop his threadbare jeans. His big, yellow radio was blaring and his trowel was loaded with a scoop of mortar. He was ready to begin. He turned and smiled at me for an instant. Then, he plopped the mortar onto the lowest level of the house, right at the foundation, and positioned a stone into the cushion of cement. He tapped and eyeballed and tapped again. He scooted the stone over a tad and re-leveled the rock. Once more he turned and flashed me that electric smile. “How do you like it?” I could not really see the one rock that was painstakingly just put into position. All I could see was the rest of the work that loomed in his future. The sheer vastness of the task that lay ahead of him was staggering to me, and yet there he was, so excited about laying that first stone. He was eager for the challenge to start something new. Each day I would walk down and watch his progress. His diligence never faltered and his preciseness never wavered. Every stone he laid was studied, tapped and measured to fit his expectations. He never rushed the art and slowly, stone by stone, the wall grew. As did his smile. “Now how do you like it?” was his daily question. Even now when I think of this story, my heart swells just as it does when I think of my new house and what my son has accomplished. There had to be times when feelings of debilitating doubt must have consumed this young builder. But the house is complete. And the builder’s son persevered with a strength that I have witnessed before.

Now I feel as though I, too, have placed that first stone. The life before me looks so overwhelming; but I will try to tighten my tool belt, wipe off the sweat, and persist with a sense of excitement. It is just one more weapon that I have been given by superman with which to go into battle. I will take his sparkle and I will somehow muster his enthusiasm. I will forge ahead one stone at a time. Maybe I will know when this job is complete and I am ready for the next. Maybe I will not see the magnitude of what looms ahead, but the potential of a new beginning. I did not know it would be the last time I would see James begin a task. I still walk by the home and marvel at the beauty of the stone exterior. I wonder if the occupants of this house comprehend the strength of its foundation. Can they see how tall the wall stands for me? James’s smile that he maintained while he worked on this wall will be forever etched in my mind. As I picture the smile I am grateful that it is a reminder of so many things. I am reminded by his smile that he was a happy man. It is easy to remember that he was strong and smart and unafraid when I picture him smiling through his work. His smile showed that he was loved unconditionally and that he knew it. The memory of James’ smile reminds me that I am so glad I did not miss the dance and that worthwhile things take time. I am grateful that the smile is so familiar to me that I have come to easily recognize it when I study my beautiful kids. The smile is a sure reminder that tomorrow is never guaranteed. I will carry his smile as I remember that the strength he called on everyday will somehow always be a part of who I am. That smile reminds me that I got to participate in one of the greatest fairy tales of all time. Without doubt the memory of his smile confirms that the happily ever after really did happen. The story will not be forgotten, but will serve as the strongest of foundations as I begin to build again and have to place that first stone. How do you like it now? I will keep asking the question until my house is complete and stories of Sunday Lunch begin again.