Encouragement

Last week I got a phone call from an unfamiliar number. As usual, I didn’t answer. Unless they leave a voicemail, I assume these calls are spam. This caller did leave me a message. He identified himself as the person who bought our Maryland house in October 2020. Bruce and I didn’t get to meet the couple because of strict COVID restrictions, and I have had no contact with them since. But I have often wondered how they liked our house, and if they had painted over the murals I had lovingly labored over when I didn’t know we wouldn’t live there for many more years.

In the message, Tony told me he had just read my book, and he loved it. I was stunned. He asked me to call him back and said he hoped our family was doing well, and that they loved the house. I was so pleased to hear from this man I never met, who walks through the same rooms I walked for thirteen and a half years, a house he now calls “home.”

I called him right back, and we talked for twenty minutes. I guess he felt like he knew me and my family well after reading our story. I told him there was a sequel coming and he said he definitely wants to read it. He invited us to dinner when we visit Mount Airy. By the time Tony ended our call with “God bless you,” he felt like a dear friend.

When my Facebook memories come up from years ago about my completion of murals on my (now his) walls, I’ve often wondered if they were under a fresh coat of paint. It’s his family’s home now, so they can decorate as they wish. I certainly changed a LOT about the house in which we now live. But he eased my mind when he said that when company comes, he gives them a tour of the house, and everyone loves the murals. He said that his two teenage nieces who live with them have traded back and forth in Roma’s old room with the beach mural, but they usually save it as the guest room.

I felt such a connection to this dear man, who had no idea how much I appreciated him finding my number, picking up the phone, and calling me to tell me he read and loved my book. He encouraged me by recognizing ours is a good story. We didn’t talk about the rest of the story, but I’m sure he has heard the tragic truth from neighbors. Roma was a popular kid in the neighborhood. We will take him up on this offer to come for dinner when we travel back to our Maryland hometown of thirty years, three hours away, and I will take him a new book when it is out.

I feel happy knowing he and his family are enjoying the house and the murals. I am a nester, and I have loved all four of the homes we have owned in the almost 46 years of marriage. I have relished the efforts of making each one “ours.” Each unique house seemed to have its own personality. I have often said we didn’t choose our houses, they chose us. We felt nurtured within their walls and they provided a backdrop of so many memories. One house in particular I regretted having to leave. We lived there for seventeen years, and our children grew up there. Luckily I got to take all my precious memories with us. I love it when I like the people who have come into our homes after us.

Here are some of the murals that are on Tony’s wall. Roma’s former room I painted one year when we weren’t going to the beach. I brought the beach to him. The woody station wagon was parked in front of the Laguna Beach Marriott in California where we stayed for our niece’s wedding. I added it as a reminder of what Roma called the best weekend ever.

These stone and ivy and a few birds were on the wall up the front stairs. The Amalfi coast was at the top of the stairs, after a trip to Italy.