In the words of Anne Lamott, “It is all hopeless.”
This feels like heartbreak. I can’t breathe. Or eat without being sick to my stomach. Or not eat without being sick to my stomach.
We’re left standing here, watching time and a dream run out. And there’s nothing to be done but watch. No activation, maximization, or effort on our part can change this circumstance. It’s a very vulnerable place to be standing.
Today is the close of escrow on the house we are buying. After months of scoping out hundreds of homes, this was the one for our family. Yes, it was old. Yes, it was in need of a family to care for it. But it already felt like our home the minute we stepped through the door.
But escrow closes in two hours. And the underwriters on the loan have not finalized things with escrow because our loan officer just sent them all the paperwork yesterday. Mind boggling to us that can happen! How does that happen when we’ve been calling and checking in on the progress for the past month. It seems like if it is your job to process loans for home mortgages you would have a gage on the minimum five business day turn-around time for your company.
Again, I’m going to be sick.
Our fate was left in the hands of someone we couldn’t trust to do their job. We weren’t looking for employee of the month, but just base-line competency. To her it is just some paperwork that may or may not get done. To us, it’s our life.
Our full hope and expectation was to be home-owners today. Unless the seller signs a petition (within the next hour) for a ten day extension on closing, then all hope is lost. The $7,000 put toward escrow and inspections, the two months of living with Nate’s mom after the sale of our house and waiting on the closing of this one, the dream of this home for our family, it’s all lost.
Breathe. Eat. I’m going to be sick.
I want it to be no big deal, but it is. I want to be able to laugh about it and refresh the process of house-hunting with a blithe spirit, but I can’t.
In her book Daring Greatly, Brené Brown calls the voices we use to berate ourselves in our heads, “gremlins”. The untruths that we tell ourselves that feel as though they were chiseled in the tablets and brought down the mountain from the very hand of God himself. Today they’re telling me that:
* if I loved Jesus more, I could translate trust into being blasé about it all instead of devastated to lose this house. material possessions and all that. (not true and not helpful)
* if I had taken the lead on this instead of playing the “supportive wife” role, it would have gotten done. (not true and not helpful)
* we blew this once in a lifetime opportunity. we’ll never find another house like it in this area for this price. (this one still feels true.)
I’m trying to find some silver linings and focus in on those. We are all healthy. We are all alive. We have one another.
And still a tiny sliver of my heart is still holding onto hope in this final hour that the seller will sign the petition to give us more time. To soften her heart towards this process and our family. Desperation prayers here.
We’re sad and angry and grieving the loss of a dream we had fully expected to be a reality. It feels heartbreaking. I know we are resilient. I know we will bounce back. But we need it to be okay for it to not be okay for a little while.
Eat. Breathe. Repeat.