Moment of Silence

I'm in mourning.

I'm grieving the loss of my home.

I met our agent this afternoon, and did the initial walk-thru of our new apartment. As the taxi drove up to the complex, my heart fell. The buildings are dreary, exuding no warmth. The plants are simple, with no color. Their drab leaves blend into the grey buildings and concrete ground. The lack of flowers, grass and color make a person weary.

We rode the elevator to the 10th floor, and opened our apartment. Men were working, moving furniture and checking meter levels. All entirely appropriate, but hardly welcoming. The water spit and sputtered while it was on. With the oven on, the kitchen smells of fire. The view out the windows is certainly dreary, looking out upon the shades of grey in the complex. Living on the 10th of possibly 30 floors, we look straight into a sea of homes and tall buildings. We have space beyond our balcony, allowing more light. But our view looks directly onto the clubhouse, into storage rooms and a helipad. That's right. We have no idea why.

I struggled to keep back my tears as I walked through the apartment. The windows let in only a bit of light, and they all looked upon the grey city. The girls rooms look out onto a utility balcony, affording them even less natural light.

Tomorrow I will focus on the positive. We begin moving furniture tomorrow morning, and we will sleep at the new place tomorrow night. It will be a bit of camping, with no living room furniture or telephone. So later I will focus on the bright, cheery lighting and the large rooms. Tomorrow I can plan how to decorate, and find where they sell flowers at a bargain.

Today, I will mourn the gardens and lawns of our current complex. The light orange tile that makes up our building, giving everything a brighter, cleaner feel. The wide sidewalks lined with rock gardens and flowers. The hedges along the winding paths, and the fountains painted bright blue for children to splash in.

My phone rings. A friend has just arrived at the playground downstairs, and asked us to join her. Today, I will mourn this community. Tomorrow, I will build another.