Flash Memoir: Welcome Home

Is it ever really finished?

Welcome to another installment of Loss + Finding Home, a real-time flash memoir of the complete gut and remodel of our 1950s California ranch-style home. Answering the questions: What does it mean to be home? Who makes up a home? How do you build a home when someone is always missing from the dinner table?

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Previously on Loss + Finding Home, we had just installed the windows, and I wrote a poem about eyes.

Hello friends,

It’s been a minute… six months in total, and I’m happy to be back in this chair writing to you, my tiny but mighty group of readers. 

I’ll warn you upfront that this post might be frustrating. It seems each sentence I write has a tangent worthy of a whole post of its own, but I like to think of those asides as a preview of what’s to come in the next few months at The Bittersweet Weekly. 

What I have here today is an ending and a reminder that expectations almost never line up with reality and that’s okay. 

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I’ve been planning my dream home since I was in first grade. I used to draw floor plans on graph paper, complete with a horse barn and gymnastics gym. In high school, I took a class in interior design, and I still reference what I learned about color, proportion, and contrast in my everyday life. 

In the early 2000s, I read Martha Stewart religiously and got hooked on HGTV and DIY everything… I cringe when I think of the old windows and broken furniture I kept “just in case” I wanted to “upcycle” it into something new. 

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Fixer-Upper and Mrs. Joanna Gaines.¹ I’ve seen every episode multiple times. My favorite part is the “reveal” at the end of every show. She opens the door and says, “Welcome home.” Then the homeowners gasp, mouths open in shock, unsure of where to look. Their home compleatly transformed, and every detail considered… pillows fluffed, artwork hung, baked goods on the counter. Most importantly, their home is finished.  

This was the moment I had been dreaming about. A home with a place for everything, and everything was in its place… I might liken this naive thinking to a young couple expecting their first child, telling themselves what they would never let them do (co-sleep, use a pacifier, cry it out at bedtime) 

Reality is different. 

I happily let go of my welcome home moment after we hung drywall.  The house was many months away from being liveable, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be home now. After that, decisions got a lot easier. I used to toil over lighting fixtures and cabinet knobs, but in those final few months, when faced with a decision, my first thought was, “Whichever is faster.” 

Once we gave our 30-day notice to our landlords, the clock was ticking. So many things had to come together, and with each passing day, it became clear to me that we would move in, and there would still be a laundry list of things to do. 

There would be no Martha Stewart tablescape or HGTV freshly laid sod in the front yard. There would be no Joanna Ganes “Welcome Home.”

I tried to keep things in order while I scrambled to back up the rental, clinging to the idea that even if the house wasn’t finished, at least it would be organized. We gave away the kid’s bunk bed; I wasn’t sorry to see it go. But I didn’t have the garage sale I’d planned, and by moving day, I was throwing everything into a box and hoping for the best. 

At the beginning of summer, when people asked, I’d say, “We're hoping for August, but I'm mentally prepared for October.” We moved in on September 29th. A year almost to the day after starting this process, we walked through the front door of our home. 

It’s been a few weeks, and each day, we tick away at our “punch list.”² Boxes get emptied, and the giveaway piles get bigger. The garage is still stuffed with construction materials and furniture that no longer fits in our space³, and somewhere deep in the back is a box of Aiden’s things. 

Much of my life in the last year has been dominated by the physical world. I’ve been rooted in what I can see, feel, hear, and taste. I’m looking forward to floating above to catch a bird's eye view and process this experience.

Of course, it’s bittersweet. This is a space Aiden will never know. Our family will make memories here that he will not share (at least in the physical form), but he is always in our hearts. Even Tatum, who I like to think met Aiden long before she met the rest of us, recognizes his smile when she kisses his pictures goodnight. She feels him here, too.

We moved into a space that was not quite finished but wholly ours. I’m taking things slowly and giving myself time to feel settled. For now, it just feels good to be home.

This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.

xoxo, Emily

Coming up… I’m not quite sure what’s next for this section of The Bittersweet Weekly. I have a lot to say about our remodel, but it doesn’t quite qualify as “Flash Memoir” any longer. I guess that’s the advantage of being a writer… I’m the one with the pen.

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1. I have so much to say about my journey with home improvement shows, DIY, and Chip and Jo. Stay tuned…

2. A document that lists tasks that need to be completed before a construction project is finished.

3. It’s a gorgeous dining set I inherited from my mother. I feel it is time to let go, but I’m struggling with the idea.