Not due to Roger at all. He tried to make me feel at home.
I did not help the situation much and for that I am sorry.
I did not know where to put my things.
His house was already decorated for the most part.
At least as much as he was ever going to do to it.
He was a bachelor.
His rooms already had their purposes.
Curtains were hung. Furniture placed.
I put my things and my decor in the holes.
I tried to combine our things.
But soon after I moved in, we bought this house.
And it was our home.
Roger and I had many plans for this house.
We planned an arbor in the backyard.
It was going to be over our patio and extending into the back.
It was going to be beautiful.
In five to ten years. That was the plan.
But then things changed. Plans shattered.
Our home became my home.
I remember in the first few months of grief trying to make our house into my house.
I painted rooms. I moved furniture.
I covered furniture and I put up new photos.
But then I had this thought: "What about when another man moves into my life?"
I knew it would be odd to one day share this house with another.
So I sorta stopped making it my house.
I did a few things here and there but nothing too drastic.
I wanted to wait.
To change my house into a new our house again.
This Saturday morning, Mr. X and I woke up extremely early for a weekend to prepare for a new plan. Our plan.
No more wood arbor.
But a screened room instead.
With pavers on the ground.
And a door.
A place to host friends and family.
Our family. Our friends.
I want Mr. X to feel at home here.
I want this to be our home.
My hope is that Mr. X does not feel out of place.
Living in a place he cannot invest hope and dreams and plans.
I hope it is different for him than it was for me.
I hope and I hope.