A Good Day to Die . . . the house speaks again

Last night I thought it was all over- that in the end it would be hypothermia and loneliness that would take me rather than the final dismantling of my bones. For two days it has been snowing. Lightly and gently, but enough to pile a good ten inches on my roof. Now I’ve weathered a lot more than that in my day- just a few years ago I carried three feet of heavy, wet snow- branches were popping all around me but I held up to it. My rafters were sore for weeks, but that was nothing compared to this. That was back when I had a good warm coat of insulation everywhere. Walls, floors, ceilings. I had asphalt shingles, and siding all around my underside to keep the wind from whistling through. There was fire in my belly, and hot smoky breath rising up through the chimney.

But the biggest difference was that I had people. They were depending on me. It’s a job that most people don’t even notice is being done, but imagine the disaster if I didn’t hold up the roof. They would perish. The cats would freak. And so even though I knew they were taking me for granted, knowing how much they would NOT appreciate it if I let them down was almost as good as being outright appreciated.

But these past two days, they didn’t even show up. They’re across the canyon in that warm and fancy house (which is a little pretentious if you ask me, but if that’s what they want . . .), looking at plans and pricing materials for my replacement. Sure, they probably looked out the window a few times to make sure I was still standing, but no visit, no shoveling, no fire. All around me I saw smoke drifting up from chimneys, I saw warm lights in windows, I saw walkways being shoveled. I couldn’t help myself. By morning there were big icicle tears hanging from my eaves.

I’m ready to go. I know it’s coming, and it’s time. This morning the sky is clear, and I see the sun hitting the ridge behind me. Soon it will be coming in the windows, and they’ll be back, bundled up and complaining about the cold and wind. But I’ll take them any way they are. I guess that’s been my gift all along- holding this space for them no matter how grumpy or happy or loud or quiet they are on any given day. I don’t care- I just want to feel their feet on my floorboards and their hands on my frame, even if they’re taking me apart. Its better than being empty. What is it that the Lakota say? Give me a good sunny day, my two favorite girls carefully dropping my rafters and lowering my walls, and it’s a good day to die.