The House

Once upon a time, Dallas and his former wife owned a home. They divorced, she got the house and all was as it should be until late fall of last year when she announced that she could no longer make the mortgage payment.

Which posed a significant problem for Dallas because banks don't give a flying fig about gut wrenching divorce decrees and property settlement paperwork. As far as they are concerned, he who signs the mortgage papers is the one on the hook. Period.

So, we took over the payments.

By late April, the kids moved in with us and ex had relinquished all claims on the house. In June, Dallas had that shitty, uncomfortable conversation during which he told the ex that she would have to vacate the premises so that we could lease out the house. We just couldn't afford the charity any longer. She was given until August 1st.

After a blissful and relaxing honeymoon, we ventured over to the property to have a look at what needed to be done before it could be rented.

It was magnificently filthy.

Horrible, sickening, worse-than-you-can-imagine dirt.

We had sort of expected that it would be bad because we had been inside the house in early February and l'odour de Fido was pervasive at that time. But nothing could have prepared us for the the state of the house once the furniture was removed, the air conditioning shut off and the home allowed to bake in 90+ degree temperatures.

Besides the overwhelming stench of dog urine, the place was filled with cobwebs, insect carcasses, thick dust and ages old grime. I was horrified as each new room revealed yet another level of neglect. Dallas just blinked and kept shaking his head as if to wipe the images from his brain. It was that bad. He still hasn't recovered, really. For him, the condition of the house inspired anger, disbelief and enormous guilt. His children had lived in that filth for three years.

We contracted with a company to place a big dumpster in the yard and over the last two weeks, we have cleaned out the house, paid to have it painted and laid new carpet. Yesterday, a landscaping crew came to manicure the yard, flower beds and trees. This weekend, Dallas and I will spend several hours cleaning. We will also be interviewing potential renters so that soon, we can begin the process of recouping some of what we have sunk into the place.

Although we are nearly at the end of this whole ordeal and in the long run, it will all have been worth it, I can't help but feel a bit sad.

How does a woman, a MOTHER, allow herself to spiral out of control like that? How does she become so irreparably broken that the welfare of her children fades like an old photograph? Amidst my disbelief and disgust is a nugget of grief because the state of the house was a clear reflection of this woman's inner turmoil. At some point in the last decade, she made the choice to check out of her life. Only recently, has she really begun to comprehend the consequences of that decision. My heart aches for her. The house was fixed without much trouble. But people don't repair as easily. I hope she lands on her feet.