This week I returned to my writing desk to work on Book 3 in my memoir series. It was Monday morning when it was cloudy and I was feeling residual blues from attending a Saturday funeral. The service was a Celebration of Life for a woman who’d lived in her home community for 84 years and had lots of loving family and friends at her service. That reminder of our mortality was followed by more reminders on the CBS Sunday morning show that listed famous people who’d passed the previous week–including several who were close to my age.

To prepare for writing the next chapters that took place in the summer of 2019, I had to go back to my journal. I didn’t realize, until I started reading, how much I’d written during those days when I was telling family and friends that David and I had separated.

We waited to tell folks until after Mama’s 96th birthday party on July 9th. It was hard to keep that news inside since I’d first become aware on April 29th that our marriage was ending. Only our sons knew and we wanted time to begin to adjust before we told others. I was glad to not keep it a secret any longer and felt a mix of dread and relief, knowing the support that I’d receive.

As I read those detailed and raw entries, I was surprised by how much I’d forgotten. There were portions that described the individual responses. From each conversation, I’d been left with that person’s one question. My older sister, Harriet took me to dinner. We seldom had time with just the two of us talking since often we were at family gatherings. But that night, I recorded how well she’d listened and had one thing that most concerned her: “Will you lose your house?”

That question had been settled early on when David and I discussed our separation. Neither of us wanted to stay in what I’d called my “Retirement Cottage” in Durham, the one we’d downsized to after living in the home we’d built and lived in for 20 years. I didn’t want to deal with the needed renovations and wanted a different place to build my new life. The bigger thing I’d lose in the divorce was the life I’d imagined and hoped for in our marriage.

When I read through my journal, I was reminded that within the first few months of separation, thinking of where I’d ‘build’ my new house, led me to explore my options. While I had all the tedious steps to go through of that year of separation, driving around communities and considering what I wanted in my future brought me hope. It would be a while before I’d actually be ready to make a decision, since we’d need to prepare and sell our house first, and then we’d have to go through our financial settlement for me to know where I landed.

I remembered back to when I was going through cancer treatment. In the early phase of chemo I felt overwhelmed by the months ahead. But in the midst of that time, my friend, Delores invited me to get away for the weekend to the mountains. On that Sunday morning, I awoke early and sat on a rock looking out over the valley, the fog just lifting in the Smokey Mountains. I felt the presence of God and that ‘still small voice’ whispered, “It’s About the Future.” For me, it felt like permission to look ahead to the future and not get stuck in the enormity of what I was going through. In those notes from the summer of 2019, it was as if that early search for my next home was the same thing.

I contacted a Realtor who showed me several townhomes. As a soon-to-be Single woman, I was ready to give up yard work and thought it would be nice to live in a more communal setting. The properties with lots of windows, the end units, appealed to me. Later, after my divorce, I dated a man who had an end unit townhouse that was yellow. The color and the brightness of his home appealed to me. At the time, I’d moved to an apartment after we sold our house. The housing market had changed and it was difficult for buyers like me when others could pay cash at greater than the selling price; I couldn’t compete.

But a couple of years later, when I’d thought I couldn’t buy a home, things changed. I found a townhouse I could afford in a community in the Triangle area where I hadn’t lived: Apex. There were no memories of my previous life there. It was a yellow end unit, with great windows, a downstairs master, and a yard with established trees. I could even build a patio garden and have just enough flowers to make me happy.

Now, I’m glad that writing Book 3 made me go back and read my journal. If I hadn’t I would never have remembered all the ways that God had answered my prayers, about the house as well as other things. Reading those entries on Monday morning, took me from feeling sad about all that happened, to grateful for all that I’d received.

I’ve been ‘building’ this house, that’s now a home, since November of 2022. Now I walk inside and outside in my patio and I’m happy for my new life. My wish, especially for those of you going through the difficult time of divorce, is to find hope for your future.

Best to You All,

Connie