Much to the surprise of a lot of my friends, I own a second house.
Roger's first house.
And since we moved out in 2007, I have had the same renters.
They are awesome.
They take care of the house.
They take care of the yard.
And just fantastic people in general.
I knew this day would come.
I prayed it would not.
And it is a bittersweet feeling.
They bought a (different) house.
I am happy for them.
But I am sad to lose them as renters.
Since they moved in, (we) I have never had to worry about the house at all.
I did not even really have to think about it which is probably why my friends do not realize I own a second house.
Today as I was thinking about the house and my renters, I remembered something.
The night before.
They saw him last.
Roger had gone to that house because of Tropical Storm Fay rains.
I remember Roger recounting his visit.
Talking about how their oldest son asked about me.
My renter later told me how he kept saying "my wife" like she did not know my name.
She said it was really cute.
And now the last people to see Roger are leaving my life.
I could hope they will keep in touch but I know that is unrealistic.
Sigh.
1 comment:
Speaking to my sister on the other side of the world for nearly an hour less than ten hours before she died was a double-edge to straddle. At first I refused to accept that she truly had died. You see, I patiently explained to our younger brother, I just talked to her so there's got to be a mistake ... Of course there was no mistake; she suffered a large blood clot to her lungs and was dead in fifteen minutes. She didn't suffer, she was home with her beloved husband of 26 years-college sweethearts with four nearly grown kids-her life in Moscow had filled her with love for her parishioners and her family and her world. Everyone she met heard about her God and son Jesus and their love for all humankind.
Still asking myself "How did this unspeakable tragedy happen and when will it stop being the most thought-about event in my life ?~!"
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