I tore it apart;

the thread is entirely undone

because the tapestry I had built covered up old wounds,

built on top of them like paint over untreated mold;

an entire house built on a fragile, throbbing, decaying foundation.

I tore it apart to find the heart.

To get to the part that was buried,

hidden, dark and untended. Unnoticed,

while we lived on the upper levels.

I tore it apart;

every floor,

every fabric,

every nail and screw I had carefully, meticulously, desperately constructed for thirty years.

All the reinforcements placed to withstand destruction from the outside, while I

suffocated from the inside.

Somewhere in the dark, she pulsed;

faint, and nearly lifeless, but there, nonetheless.

I guess they couldn’t kill her, after all.

To say it takes courage to dismantle an entire house, well…

maybe just a willingness to face loss.

I can’t tell you what it was like, to see the wounds;

so many.

How had I missed it?

How had I neglected this tender creature, for thirty years? Buried under my accomplishments and

acceleration toward a life that seemed fortified; stable; happy.

Somewhere, deep down, I always knew the truth; something wasn’t right.

She wasn’t okay.

It was easy, once I saw her, to know that we could not bear the load of a life in this time;

like stopping everything for the one in critical condition. She was  

too tender, too

raw, too

infected, to do anything besides receive treatment. No building upon it at this time. Only,

Surgery. Let her breathe.

Surgery, let her breathe.

Surgery; let her breathe.

Again, and again, and again.

And finally, let her breathe, at the end – no more surgeries needed, just rest. Just,

Rest.

Maybe while it’s resting we look around at the pieces, of our disassembled house.

Turn them over in our hands, wonder, and inspect, and consider what their place is.

Did I love this piece?

Oh this was one of my favorites.

I never cared much for that one.

This one? I’m not sure yet

That one – never again.

We begin to wonder, about the new house.

We wish the house was built, already. That there was a home, to go home to. People, to nestle in with. My love, and our established rhythms. Our favorite coffee shops and yearly spa trips, my back against the shape of you as we fall asleep…

But I would never wish that weight, no matter how complete a house, upon her again. No home is worth its concealment, no matter how beautiful.

I couldn’t – can’t -hold the weight of the house on my shoulders while I tend to her.

And so, here we are.

Me,

her, slowly coming out of anesthesia.

Me, at a loss for how much was torn apart, set aside. How to go about making home, again. Tired at the anticipation of it. Wishing my person was here, to rebuild with me. To dream, zone out for hours sawing wood, take breaks, laugh at our mistakes, pause halfway through a project because the sunset is breathtaking. Wondering if he ever will be.

I can’t do as much on my own. Can’t do it as fast; especially when we’re still recovering. When heart rates rise faster and muscles tire more easier and breath runs out quicker than it may have at other times; when I have to stop to make sure the stitch hasn’t come out, or the spleen hasn’t ruptured again.

But…I can keep breathing. I can move one 2×4 at a time. I can admire the golden hour sun rays and feel the warm breeze against my skin as I go. I can pause to check in on her, replace the applesauce and laugh together at the squirrel that keeps stealing the bolts for the cornerstone.

Slowly.

I’m not used to slowly.

I ran at a million miles an hour to secure safety, for myself and everyone else, as quickly as possible.

Fail proof fortress.

But fortified built on a foundation of pain just became a fortress that kept me from her,

not pain from me.

What she needed from the start was love.

Patient, protecting, I delight in you love.

I desire joy for you love.

I will walk with you love.

I won’t rush you love.

I won’t control or confine you love.

I will never use you love.

You are my pride and joy love.

I can’t wait to see who you become love.

I will always be here, love.

It’s the only foundation a home can truly be built on.

Love,

from the start.