My feet are moving closer to the earth. My emotions still swirl around like the leaves shedding from the trees when a gust of wind whips by. The last of the crew from EMHE left yesterday morning. Its been a full 24 hours now, since I've heard from any of them.
Before that there were calls for rides, and laundry that someone needed done and my phone was constantly buzzing with texts and ringing with calls. And always, the invitation to come "party" with them and hang out, which I continued to politely decline, but which made me feel included nonetheless.
Monday was the last day I went to the site of the Grommesh house. The crew offered me a tour of the house and I declined, already feeling like it would be somehow invasive for me to be there, even though there were several groups of people going through. I like a good surprise and will watch with anticipation for the reveal of the house along with everyone else when the show airs.
So instead I sat watching the crew take down the tents in front of Coco's house, and heard her say, "But I like having this dining room in front of my house..." The sadness in her words was palpable. I couldn't stay long. I got the last of my "Hollywood hugs." I went from giggling last week, about strong scandinavian people giving these more-than-a-thump-on-the-back- kind of hugs... to realizing it wasn't about what I was giving, but what I had received in the end.
Through all of the celebrity sightings, the television cameras, the hoopla of Hollywood productions, a "family" of sorts emerged. It was about camaraderie and pulling together for a common good. It was long and intense hours, red bull by the caseload, and blurry eyes. It was about celebrations and parties that lasted till the wee hours of the morning. At the center of it all it was about a boy and his family who only wants him to feel that his life and options for life are limitless, without bounds, even in a wheelchair.
Each person who engaged in the EMHE process, has a different take away. Most are proud of contributing something to the building of the house, or helping with something for the Grommesh family. Some can't wait to see if they made the cut and will make their national television debut.
I realized for me, it was something entirely different. It started as a kind of living story. And then became a layered story within a story behind another beautiful story. Half way through the journey, a space was opening inside of me. A lightness surrounded the dark remains of grief inside of me and joy walked in. A part of me that had still been walking wounded, came back to life.
For a long time after Dad died, I prayed for "Something Beautiful," to touch me. I listened to Needtobreathe repeatedly in the way of a mantra of sorts. I just had no idea this is how it would come to me, but it did in an over the top way.
And now, I find myself in limbo. Going to get groceries feels sort of mundane, just like cleaning my house and helping with 4th grade math. My phone is quieter, the streets are emptier. My feet, nearer the ground.
Yet, theres this...
On my way to church last night, I traveled past the Grommesh house for the first time in a couple of days. There it was in its natural setting. No cameras streaming live images to our computers. No spectators, and no flood lights beaming down. Just a beautiful house, with a single car in the driveway, like every other house on the block. And me in my car driving by, with a only a tinge of sadness, as the joy bubbled through the memory of my something beautiful.
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