A Home for New Years

New Year’s Eve. Most people are counting down to fireworks and champagne. Me? I was counting boxes. Packing up the little life I’d managed to keep together, wondering if the next year would be any different. The storm outside wasn’t just snow. No, it was everything I’d been carrying for years. Cold, relentless, overwhelming. 

I have three kids. Three little humans who’ve been through more than they should have at their age. Every one of them wondering why we couldn’t just have a ‘normal’ New Year. I’d been warned that there was a good chance we’d have to go into shelter first because units were so limited. But somehow, on New Year’s Day, we got lucky. We walked straight into our own unit. Just us, a roof over our heads, and a tiny spark of space to breathe. How we got this lucky? I don’t know, but it certainly gave me a teeny feeling of faith.  

That first morning, the storm still raged outside. But inside, we had warmth. We had food. And for the first time in a long time, we had hope. I watched my kids exploring the space, claiming corners, imagining bedrooms, imagining future birthdays, homework, and quiet mornings. I don’t know where we’ll be next New Year’s, but for the first time, I feel like we might just get to find out. 

We’re celebrating new beginnings in this home. Sad for all the years behind us, but so grateful for this one day. And this one chance to start over. 

Thankful,

Carson