This is the third in a series of posts that starts here.
I was at my grandparent’s house; all was quiet. I had checked
all of the rooms they would normally be in that time of day and come up empty.
I tried calling their landline phone because sometimes they carry the cordless
with them when they move around within their assisted living community, but I heard
the phone ring in the chair next to me and felt a little stupid for not seeing
it. My cellphone started ringing and I thought maybe they were somehow calling
me back from an unknown location, but my caller I.D. told me that it was my
real-estate agent. I hurriedly swiped the green icon.
It was Wednesday evening, and I hadn’t expected a call from
him at the earliest until Thursday night. In my head, I already knew that he
was calling to tell me that somebody had put in a much higher offer on our house, and that I would no longer be
in the running. I knew it was too good to be true, after all, this house was
amazing, and it had everything we wanted. I was wrong. He was calling to inform
me that the family had accepted our offer, with only a few minor amendments to
the original.
He went on to explain what the sellers wanted, but all I
could hear was my blood flowing. All I could think about was telling Amanda the
news she had been so nervously anticipating. I was already stripping the
wallpaper off the walls in the kitchen in my head when the call ended and all I
gleaned from the rest of the chat was that the closing date will be May 4th.
Quatro de Mayo? My phone rang again and I got to tell a friend with a trembling
voice, “I got the house!” I was absolutely jubilant.
I made several calls, sent many texts, and finally found my
grandparents and told them the news in person. As usual on Wednesday nights, I
went to a very large meeting in St. Paul where many of my dear friends in
recovery gather and shared it with them as well. I wasn’t bragging, I was
telling them the outcome of over three years of hard work in recovery. I
started a recent post by saying that four years ago I was sleeping in cars and
on couches, I can’t forget that. These people know who I am, and they are the
first ones to tell me that things are going really well for me right now, so I
need to be careful.
Today I signed some more forms, and fielded emails from my
mortgage broker and asked probably too many questions. He needs my bank
statements from the last two months. Why? Will they see anything on them that
will make this all go away? Have I done anything that will cost us this dream?
FUCK!
Everybody on the business side of things keeps assuring me
that everything is going smoothly, and I don’t have anything to be worried
about. All I need to do is wait it out, review and sign forms when they come,
and relax; there’s plenty of hard work ahead. Worry is hard work too, and I don’t
get paid for it, so I will just sit back and relax until this house becomes our
home.
I want to thank all of you who have sent encouraging words
over the past week. I listen well, and your thoughts are still with me. This is
the beginning of a fantastic journey, and I can’t wait to write my way through
it all.
