Christening

I've often thought of changing the title of my blog to something that represents more what I'm thinking about these days. Two years ago when I began writing here I was trying to come to terms with that empty space in the bed, the car, at the table, in church. And as I was, I was figuring out how my life was going to work alone. Between dating and marriage I had been with the same boy for twelve years and I loved him so hard for the way he made me laugh, his kindness, the respect he showed me, his ideas, his encouragement, his faith, his patience, his generosity, his self. His self. I loved his self.
But everything fell so horribly apart. Three years later and I still don't understand why or how it happened, but in the falling I became a different person. It happens. I don't notice the empty places like I used to.

And though I'm thinking of changing names of this place that I stop in to write at I'm thinking more about how my life has changed so much within three years. This is not the life I intended. Living in the suburbs with my daughter, my mom, little siblings, one dog, two fish, a bird, a hamster, and a lizard (wasn't there a lizard when we moved in?). My pride has taken some serious hits and I have to remind myself often that: Yes, I am capable of taking care of my daughter alone. I am a grown-up. Having time for India is better than having a place of our own. It's alright to have help.

You find yourself in such dark places when you work through grief. They are ugly and confusing and full of a fear that leaves you stuck to your pillow in the morning from crying so much. This household is well acquainted with those places. They still invite us for a visit from time to time, but still, even still, we are all settling into our new home. We are all figuring out boundaries and shower times, buying groceries and, "Should we keep your frying pan or mine?" There isn't enough room for everything; there really isn't enough room for pride.

Houses need names, too, and names should reflect a history and a future, but when the kids and my mom and I tried to come up with a name for our new home we looked like a strange version of parents pouring over baby naming books, offering up the ridiculous from a lack of the plausible. Nothing fit. But a few days ago I remembered the title of a Christian Bok book and I knew what our house should be named.

There is this little house in the suburbs. There are some flowers in the front, plans to paint, a backyard with possibility. There is a bit of a rundown house with six souls learning how to live in it together, how to love each other over toast and coffee, declining invitations to hopelessness. There are new versions of a life sitting around a table together in a house named Eunoia, named for kindness and good will, for peaceable spirits, for beautiful thinking.