The Shine Journal

Making Their House My Home

by

Amy Severson

I am living in someone else's house.  I walk on their floors, my dishes are in their cabinets, my clothes in their closets.  I hear unfamiliar creaking from beneath the carpeting I do not want.  I see my pictures against the backdrop of paint colors not of my choosing.  Everyday I hide all clutter and wipe down all surfaces because this place is not mine and I do not want to appear ungrateful.

My husband knows this house.  He has walked these floors and laughed in these rooms for longer than I have known him.  He knows the secret wiring behind the drywall, he knows where the new rooms start and the old ones end.  The past echoes from every corner.  He brushes his teeth in the sink his father brushed his teeth in years ago.  He does his course work in the room where his mother used to sew.

Our house, the one I chose and loved, is miles away.  Walls were painted as we dreamed and floors resurfaced as we planned for the future.  Closets were too small and walls were uneven, but it was ours.  We filled the rooms and made our memories.  Now, someone else lives there, making new plans, creating new memories.

My husband finally decided to go back to college which would mean a cut in his work hours and a cut in pay.  I wanted him to get his degree, but making ends meet would be difficult.  Then, his mother made us a generous offer: we sell our house and move into hers and live rent-free.  My mother-in-law and her husband lived at their lake house for most of the year, leaving the ranch-style home in town vacant for long stretches.  They would turn the large basement into an apartment for when they weren't at the lake and we could move in upstairs.  After my husband earned his degree and secured a great job, we had the option of buying the house from his mother at a drastically reduced price.  It was the perfect solution for everyone and I tried to keep that in mind as we signed the closing documents and handed the keys to our home to a stranger.

Now, I am living in someone else's house, but until the day it actually becomes mine, I will try to make it my home.  I know that my influence will gradually diminish the past.  My husband, looking for a fork, automatically opens the drawer in the corner where the silverware was kept since before he could remember.  Now he finds tinfoil and plastic wrap.  I smile and point to the drawer at my hip. "We keep our silverware here."

Motivation: Moving into my mother-in-law's house so we could afford for my husband to go back to college.

Bio: I live in Athens, Georgia with my two dogs and one husband.