This year began with a bang. Literally. Uncharacteristic of my tendency to rest and recoup after the happy but full holidays, we spent our January making last minute adjustments to plans and gathering supplies, then finally emptying out the closet, moving toothbrushes and shampoo into the kids’ bathroom, and delivering the first big bang (of many to come) that brought our bathroom walls crumbling down. All in the name of independence and freedom and ease. Safety too. It’s been years (holy cow!) since I’ve been able to get in and out of the shower by myself. And in those years are countless struggles inside these tight corners and short hallways of our bathroom. My husband’s lifted my body - with my walker between us, no less - to get me onto the toilet. He’s stabilized my collapsing knees so I could stand long enough to rinse my mouth of foaming toothpaste. I’ve skipped showering (more than I care to admit) when he’s working late or off adventuring in the mountains. I’ve literally crawled on my hands and knees to the toilet a few times. And so this new year - for us - is coming with a new bathroom. The plan: Bring down every single wall. Leave the pathway (to the toilet, my clothes, the sink, the shower, all of it!) clear and open. Add a bench in the opening of the shower so I can easily get in and out. Take away the cabinet under the sink so I can roll right under. And start living life to the fullest… for real.

A fresh start

I guess I could feel depressed about needing it and about how much the project is requiring in effort and finances. I could probably be digging in my heels - like I stubbornly have for over two years - about doing anything major like this, in hopes it wouldn't be needed. I could probably have convinced both of us that it wasn’t worth the money or all the time Matt’s pouring into it. But there’s more - so much more - than two months’ worth of my husband’s blood, sweat and tears in this project (although I’m grateful for that too). I can feel it in the smooth floor and the open space under the countertop. I can smell it in the fresh paint and see it in the wide open shower. It’s a fresh start. For me. For Matt. For all of us. It’s permission to stop holding our breath for the healing we hope will come someday. And instead make our life easier and better today. Inside this beautiful, open space is an invitation to love my life. Love my body. Love this moment. Just as it is.

For love