The Home on Chestnut Street

It was always comfortable in its' own dowdy way.
Built of frame construction, three stories high, eleven rooms and a big yard.
Aged aluminum siding showing the effects of 40 years of sunlight bearing down on it.
Small stress cracks in the walls that represented (in my eyes) character not defects.

A husband, a wife, a girl, a boy, two cats and a dog.
All love and smiles in the beginning
A rather typical type of a rust belt home built at the turn of the century, on what was referred to then as the "Bank Properties".
An upscale place 70 years ago, affordable and solid today.

Hard working mostly blue collar types filled the neighborhood.
Honest, church goers with nice yards and nicer children. No pretenses,
solid folks who were always willing to reach out to each other.
A nice place to live, comfortable like the neighbors. It always reaching out to me and making me feel welcome.

We had lived there almost 18 years when it finally all fell apart.
She needed to go her way as she grew weary of us and mostly of me and I couldn't find fault with her decision. I was less than she deserved.
It had been more like a mausoleum than a marriage for the last few years.
Oh we were courteous most of the time, even civil with each other,
but the stress had finally had it's way with both of us. We cracked and buckled like the hull of the Titanic (which paradoxically sank the year the house was built) when it encountered the ominous iceberg that sent her to her watery grave.

Irretrievably broken was the legal term they used. My personal understanding was it was simply a mess and most of it was caused by my selfishness and unreal demands and expectations.
The dreams that we had years ago were driven from us by the responsibilities of life,
the stress of our careers, kids, bills, the pull of opposite ideas and life in general pushed us farther apart.
We refused to acknowledge and stopped talking about the elephant that was sitting in the middle of the living room and it doomed us.

At one time the house was filled with my love for her and her love for me and great expectations for the both of us.
Years later it had melted down to attorneys and who gets what and how much.
It's strange how that happens but I know it's a form of punishment and protection that one surrounds oneself with. Wanting to kick her in the shins because I felt she had kicked me in mine. How stupidly we had behaved towards each other.

We went from lying in bed talking or making love all night to sitting in our own private armed camps (her in the bedroom and me on the couch) staring out into space and wondering suspiciously when the next salvo would be incoming.
The conversations were simple "How was your day"? "Fine, How was yours"? Fine" as she ran of to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

She decided that she was moving out and I had no problem with that, after all one of us had to go.
She graciously allowed the children to stay with me, odd I thought but I was glad and relieved that they were staying with me.
The big problem looming overhead was how was I going to keep juggling all of the balls in the air when half of our income was walking out the door and it would trouble me for quite some time to come.

Suck it up I thought, be a man. This is the way it's supposed to be, no whining, no wimping out, get a good positive attitude and it will all be ok.
My reality was somewhat different, I hadn't counted on the tears, the fears and loneliness coming to the party.

I held out for 18 months before I had to give it up.
Middle aged with some nagging health issues, working three jobs and still falling short of our monthly needs.
A very cold winter and the huge gas bills ended it for me. Cold costs in the Northeast and it costs dearly.
I came to the realization that I couldn't afford to live in my own home anymore and it sent a tectonic shudder right through my soul.

I had to move away from the only real home that I had ever known. As a child we were poor, my parents never owned their own home and moving was quite common.
Defeated, depressed, dejected and greatly saddened by it all.
The for sale sign was the white flag of personal defeat and surrender.
I was done. I was truly spent. Tired and worn from the stress of trying to keep it together and feeling "less than" on a daily basis, it had to come to this end.

The neighbors across the street inquired and eventually their son and his new bride would buy the house.
I was pleased that my home was going to a good home.
Prior to the agreement I had moved into a small apartment with my son. My daughter now being of age to be on her own had moved away leaving me even emptier.

I had an occasion or two to go back to the house before it sold and it left me feeling like I was an intruder in my own home. It was such an empty feeling. It was a feeling of loss, defeat and embarrassment for me. The house really didn't belong to me. It belonged to the bank for all intents and purposes and I was just a visitor.

I have learned to adjust to my apartment although there is no love here for where I live. It is simply my apartment and nothing more. My son has since married and moved into his own home. There is no soul in this place just shelter from the elements and a place to lay my head. It is functional but not loved.

I have had the occasion to ride by the house on Chestnut Street and I still long for it. It has changed in appearance a bit. The new young owners with hopes, dreams, time and money have put their heart and soul into the house and children into it's rooms and it gladdens me to see the home on Chestnut Street continue to house love and hope for them.

The house is all dressed up now in her Sunday go to meetin' clothes and she is a pretty sight to see. I have yet to ask the new owners to let me come inside and see what they have done to make it their own. I am afraid that would hurt too much and I will defer to another time while the scars heal.