In my duplex.

About my duplex.

If this were a facebook relationship status, it would read “it’s complicated”.

Of course then ALL my friends would comment.

What’s going on? Did duplex do something to you? Can you not commit to duplex? Has duplex been housing a shady tenant on the side? A plugged commode? Can you call the house whisperer? I hate to see a three-year relationship end so badly.

I would assure all the well wishers gossipers it’s not the duplex, it’s me.

I’ve had an affair. An affair with my future husband’s house. The shame of it, because I still LOVE you duplex. I still NEED you. But I’ve slipped in my attentions.

I didn’t tend to the flower pots this year. Nope. I planted pots at the new house, just like last year. And I didn’t make garden beds like I had always hoped, but I did plant in the garden beds at the new house. How disparaging.

This is hard. SO HARD. I love your new duplex smell. I love your embrace when I come home at all hours of the night after spending it with my other place. There is no judging, or weeping. Just a poignant sigh (or maybe that’s me). I love how you are my safe haven when I need it; my quiet sanctuary. I love the roominess, yet compactness. The delights of having an extra bedroom, and a big garage. The tiny but – oh so handy – backyard.

Do you know what I love most? You’re mine. My place.

Just being in your realm brings me great peace and comfort. To leave, to say good-bye it’s….. devastating.

I don’t want to. I don’t. But the upkeep to keep this sweet spot on the side, well, it’s steep. Too rich for my poorness. With four and half months until the wedding, with a lease that’s expiring in three days – what makes sense is to move most things to the new house and lease a last fling apartment for six months.

An apartment. A fling. I know. Sick. It’s not a duplex kind of love. It would be a one bedroom, not three. No yard. No front nook with a mini black lab statue. No extra bathroom. No garage. No empty flower pots. ALL my things would be stored, sold, or moved somewhere. I’d be in limbo. I’d live with a toe in the door there, and a half a body here, an address there, and the rest of my body parts scattered in between.

I’m torn.

I’m sad.

I have to write the thirty-day notice to the master developer today (aka-leasing office). It’s killing me. I want a happy ending for us. I want to remember with gladness how you were there for me during an extremely difficult first year of residence. It was you that heard every tear, every sob, every cry.

You absorbed my pain into your walls. Your heart grieved with mine. You watched me grow as a person. You watched me survive. You watched me heal. You screamed with me when we cleaned yet another puppy accident. You didn’t even complain when Sydney, at age thirteen and bratty, sprayed your walls with silly string (which is still there). You watched with great pride as I snapped a picture of my little girl going to her first day of high school. What memories we have. The many memories of just Sydney and just me. Together, but on our own. To leave is breaking me apart. Breaking us apart.

I have to tell myself you are just a place. Everything we shared is inside of me. New people will come and you will be home once more. You won’t stay vacant. There is a reason and a season – a time for everything – and ours has reached the end. It’s not really the end, just a new beginning. A new home. A new transition for a moment in time.

Truth is, I fear. I fear being without you. *My place* You are my crutch. We’ve been through it all. If I kick your address to the curb, there is no return.

With a heavy heart, I humbly thank you. I am grateful I had you to go to. I’m glad you were my duplex. No other duplex would have made me feel as safe and as loved as you did. But it’s time to move on, write that notice, and fully invest in my new house (with a fling). You are deserving of so much more than me. You deserve a family that spends more time with you.

So, here’s to our last thirty days together, let’s turn the ceiling fans on high, take a last poop scoop of the yard, then run like banshees up and down the hall, while singing off-key and celebrating all of life’s memories as one.

May your walls echo my great joy, for as long as you shall stand.