From Middle Class to Poverty to Homeless

I remember the day I bought this home, in May of 1997 three weeks before I went into the Peace Corps. This was the first home that would be mine. I remember sitting on the front stoop (steps) at 2:30 in the morning listening to the birds, looking at all the flowers, and feeling such a wave of fulfillment washing over me that for once in my life something would be mine. This was to be my home when I came back from the Peace Corps. Not a rental, but my home. One where this time all the love and work put into it wouldn't be lost when I moved, it would be mine. Mine. Those were the feelings I had as I sat on the stoop letting them wash over me, listening to the birds. My birds, in my trees, at my house.

That was then and this is now. Thirteen years later it is too cold to sit on the stoop, so I am sitting in the only chair left looking around, getting ready to start another long emotionless day of moving trying to silence the voices of those that said "why should I rent to you, you are a credit risk." The tears that fall silently as I type this, and look at my poor dog that has no idea why his couch is not there for him, nor why I don't want to play. He doesn't understand and I cannot explain.

My struggles began around the middle of 2007. At the time I had 2 successful Real Estate Offices with a few agents in each one. I never wanted to be a big company, just one that everyone could earn a decent living in a decent environment. One office served the desert and the other office was for people that wanted to live at the River. Everyone was doing well, but I could see that sales were way down but the bills didn't change. I had some hard decisions to make, and decided to close one of the offices. In retrospect I should have closed it sooner. Anyway, as it turned out both offices were closed by the end of 2007, and I started working out of my home.

If I thought that was bad, 2008 was worse, and 2009 wasn't much better. Odd jobs here and there were all I could do as my town didn't have any jobs available. My old Real Estate Brokerage closed down also, and many others were in similar situations. The word recession might as well have been depression as that is how it was around here. My life had become as depressing as the economy, and every day, every hour was one of struggling to survive and keep my house.

I am tired now, and decided to stop fighting, so here I am moving. I have no idea how things will work out, but I know they will. I was very lucky that this came after I had earned enough money to move, and pay rent. If I was to think how things could be worse, it could have happened in 2008 or almost anywhere in 2009 when I would have been destitute and depressed.

It is 7:00 in the morning and I am sitting in the cold shell of my home with bits of my life strewn about waiting to be packed or trashed, looking at the rain clouds out of a curtain-less window, sitting on the only chair I have left, trying not to cry, not to even acknowledge any feelings. it's easier this way. Just pack. Throw away what you cannot use, and take what you can.

Don't look at the doorjamb where your grandkids would line up to see how much they grew, nor the hand prints and names the kids wrote in the new cement on the patio. Don't look at the garden that for years you waited for the cosmos to bloom, and the lilies that brightened up the yard every spring. The garden with the yellow brick road leading to the patio with the outside fireplace and the gazebo for those hot summer evenings. The barn that you bought to make into your own craft studio that cannot be taken, that you were so proud to have earned enough to buy. Don't look, just pack.

Today I am writing from my new home. Yes, after a few weeks, I rented a house not far from where I used to live. The landlord said I should feel grateful and that just didn't set right with me for several reasons. If they had given me the house without me paying first, last, and security I might have been grateful. And if I didn't have to do a lot of repairs that too might have made me think differently, but I doubt it.

The grief of losing my home was overwhelming. But I had so much to do that I didn't really deal with these emotions. I just kept working, and trying to sort everything out. It wasn't until after I moved in here, and got things put away that I had time to even let all these emotions come to the surface. Was I a failure? Should I really be grateful when I didn't feel that way? Would I be able to earn enough to make sure I had the rent on time, consistently?

A million thoughts. A million things to dredge up from my subconscious and sort out. All of this had to be done, along with unpacking, before I could actually feel anything akin to grateful. We all deal with grief differently and I knew that I had to deal with it on my terms, and my time line. We are not responsible for our feelings just our behaviors.

Am I grateful? You bet I am!. I am grateful to everyone that commented here, sent me private messages and to those that shared their own stories. I am grateful that today I am sitting here typing this with the sun shining on my desk, in this house, instead of where I might have ended up. I am also very grateful that I was strong enough to not let this break me, or turn my thinking into pessimism instead of optimism.

I had to leave things that I had worked hard for, and I threw away things I had been saving that at the time meant a lot to me. Were they really all that important? Not really. They were just "stuff", and after I got over the initial sense of loss I really don't miss them. I have what's important. Good kids that helped me sort out this new house, and friends, both old and new, that could never know how important their messages of encouragement and support helped me, no matter how much I say thank you.

So, I am starting over. A new beginning to the rest of my life; confident that all will be well no matter how bad it might look at times :)