It’s been thirteen months since I’ve seen the liveable inside of my home. Thirteen months since being evacuated from my home, from the town of High River and from the life my husband and I worked hard to obtain and begin a family in.
No, we aren’t homeless - thankfully we do have a roof over our heads and 2 sq ft of counter space to prep meals, cook, stack dirty dishes, wash said dirty dishes over and over again.
Thankfully, we have a room to share with our 9 month old who’s sleep patterns are driving us crazy but sleep training in the same room you are trying to sleep in is futile.
Thankfully, we have a place to put our clothes that we did salvage from our flooded home but we have to rummage through them in Rubbermaid bins stored in a barn stall 400m away from the room we call home.
See, I’m grateful for things, but thirteen months in and everything has a double edge.
It’s 13 months of uncomfortable living in a cramped space that would have been fine for my husband and I alone but with a pack n’ play, exer-saucer, high chair, bin of toys, basket of plastics, stack of children’s books and other additional paraphernalia a little one seems to collect, the space feels cramped.
I know they say love grows in little houses but quite honestly, it’s not growing.
Or at least I’m so clouded with frustration, exhaustion and angst that I don’t see the love that’s growing aside from the rare cuddle I get from my little one. She’s not a cuddler. She pushes away from me and I can tell that she too gets tired of this tiny space. She’s already explored every nook and cranny available.
On Facebook these days my girlfriends are posting lovely things that they are grateful for. All things that normally, I like to think, I’d be sharing as my gratitude list as well but like I said, everything has a double edge right now.
I have things I’m grateful for but I’m struggling. I’m exhausted and frankly I’m tired of the fight.
I don’t think I have any fight left in me to be honest.
Take me out for I am DONE.
I’m cranky, crabby, removed and I know that my friends have distanced themselves from me because I’m a toxic personality right now. I know this. I’ve started to seclude myself too because I just don’t want to keep crying in front of everyone and have to explain what’s up. I’m done. I am emotionally taxed, physically burnt out and beyond mentally broken.
I initially responded to the flood so well, so positive.
I fought for other people, for my neighbors and their homes. I built contact lists for better communication with my neighbors, I became a liaison with government officials, I made very hard decisions (that some think I made poorly) and I stood by, hugged and supported those who were broken and lost because of the impact of the flood on themselves and their family.
I cried for a day. I made jokes the rest of the way.
Thirteen months later, I’m grieving, not because we have absolute loss but because I am FED UP.
Our house is being built but all I want to do is go home because for some reason, in my head, being back home will make everything all right. Everything will be better. Our lives will be revived, we will see that love again and we will stop seeing double edges to everything. For some reason, returning home seems to be the only solution.
Yes, I’m grateful for the ability to even rebuild our home. I know that in itself is a miracle, but then again, I worked hard for that to happen too. So much background stuff that no one knows about or cares to understand/listen to.
Thirteen months of fighting feels like a lifetime. I’m ungrateful for the fight.
I’m broken and am unsure of what will rise once the pieces find their resting places.