What Will Not Be and What Is to Come

Three years ago, Kevin and I bought a house. We were excited about what our future held and this house was well-situated between UVA, where I worked, and highway 29, which Kevin took to work. However, the real estate market in Charlottesville is expensive, so we bought a house that needed a little love. It had been built in the early ‘70s and was pretty much still in original condition, avocado appliances, paneled walls and all. But I see potential in almost everything and we weren’t afraid of a little work. Making things pretty again is something I love.

So we energetically jumped into projects; I painted almost every surface, including the trim and doors, which were that dated orange-y oak, and Kevin gutted the kitchen, reconfigured it, and rebuilt it. He also laid new flooring in the basement and painted the drop-ceiling tiles. But after all this work, we still felt there was work left to do. Our enthusiasm had waned considerably - but all that potential!

And then my back pain started. And a couple of months later, I found out my breast cancer had returned and had spread to my spine, causing a fracture there. My ability to work on the house was severely limited and the treatment I began caused fatigue that left no energy for anything other than my paying job. We reached a stand-still on the house.

Our life circumstances had also changed considerably. We bought this house not knowing exactly what the future held, but hoping that our family would grow in some way. The double blow of losing my ovaries to a cancer scare and then the very real cancer recurrence in my spine ended that hope. It was just going to be the two of us from here on out. Empty bedrooms seemed to mock me.

A year went by, and then some, and I eventually had to leave work permanently. Now I am home all day in a house that feels unfinished, seeing all that “potential” and yet not able to do anything about it. We did hire some help and finished off a few more projects, but I began to realize that what was needed to make this house a place I enjoyed being in all day every day, a space with views of the outdoors and warm, sunny spots for reading, a place where I didn’t see things to improve everywhere I looked, was going to require hiring a crew and living through a pretty big reno. Maybe do-able for some, but not for someone who is home all day trying to rest.

So we’ve decided to sell and move to a place that fits where we are now in life. I love looking at real estate and have been searching available listings for months now. So I didn’t expect to be hit with a wave of grief when we went out looking at places. Who could predict buying a house would be emotionally hard? But when you think about it, when people try to sell you a house, they are really selling you an idea of what your future could look like – a place where you’re going to see your kids grow up, where you’re going to grow old together, a place you can pass down to future generations. And none of that will happen for me.

We don’t need three or four bedrooms, a playroom, or a tire swing. We don’t need to be within walking distance of the elementary school. We don’t need an open concept living area so I can keep an eye on the kids while I cook.

Not to mention the thought of meeting new neighbors, inevitably having to explain our situation and seeing their pity, their nervousness about what to say, and their realization that we have zero common ground on which to build a relationship. I like fitting in. I like having commonalities with people and being relatable. And I just feel so horribly awkward now.

There are things cancer takes that you never think of. Losing hopes and dreams is hard; losing connections with people is even harder. I avoid small talk with strangers like the plague and if I can’t avoid it, I am artful in keeping the conversation from drifting toward anything personal about me. I hate living this way. I hate not being 100% real with everyone I meet. I hate being different from everyone else. I hate feeling sad when I search for houses. I want something happy to look forward to.

There is the promise that “everything sad is coming untrue,” as Tolkien says through Samwise Gamgee in The Return of the King. “Behold, I am making all things new,” is what will happen at the end of the age (Rev. 21:5). It is this thought that keeps me going when despair could take over. The Bible says that we will receive one hundredfold in the life to come what we have lost in this life (Mark 10:29-30). So I grieve what will not be in this life, look forward to the days of restoration, and try to find joy by living and focusing my thoughts on the present moment.