Notice, You

For you who thought it would never be rebuilt, the pieces never found, the structure
       never sound

For you who worried your family and spirit had been torn apart, never to knit together
       again

For you who lost so much – the expectation of safety in the night, the first day of
       kindergarten, old photographs all gone

For you who wondered if you’d ever feel whole again

Swept along on a current in a river you did not choose

For you who wondered and worried how this story would turn out

Notice, you.

Notice the firm couch beneath you that sits on the beautiful wood floor, gleaming and
       scratched by the dog’s too-long toenails

Notice your grandmother’s buffet, refinished and strong, an anchor of weight and
       history flanking your side, family silver tucked inside, polished to gleaming by the
       hands of friends and strangers

Notice the pictures of your children smiling on top of it

Notice your favorite leather chair sitting under the window that frames the lilac tree you
       planted, a gift as you moved home, marking your own new beginning

Notice the relief you feel, the result of hours of effort and the cleansing power of tears

Notice how your children sleep soundly in their own beds most of the nights now, and
       so do you

Notice this

here

now

A web of kindness and care is visible that had gone unseen before

Notice and breathe this clean air

No smoke, no mold, no water here

Clean, clear, air

Notice your home,

you’re home.

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