Three Sided Houses
Sometimes metaphors help us explain ourselves to others. They can show others how you feel or what you are going through, in a more graphic, explanatory way than just a statement. How often do you find yourself saying, “lt’s like if this happened…”
When you’ve suffered the loss of a marriage or a friend, a loved one, or even your health, sometimes your own feelings of loss seem inconsistent with gratitude for what you do have. And the goal is always not to be bitter. How do you live through adversity or sorrow rather than merely survive?
This metaphoric story was given to me by my therapist, and is from the book “Lessons of Loss: A Guide to Coping” by Dr. Robert Neimeyer. It views loss as a means to reconstruction, and makes an effort to build a sense of self in a world full of the unwelcome losses in life.
The story is by a bereaved father, Steve Ryan, who wrote this after the passing of his son at two years old, as a “message to himself, to come to grips with why he should embrace his ongoing life rather than remain immersed in bitter anger and longing for his son’s return.” This is an edited (by myself) version of his story. It really resonated with me and so I thought maybe it would with you as well.
I dedicate this post to the people of Ukraine.
Three Sided Houses
“I am building a three sided house.
It is not a good design. With one side open to the weather, it will never offer complete shelter from life’s cold winds. Four sides would be much better, but there is no foundation on one side, and so three walls are all I have to work with.
I am building this place from the rubble of the house I used to own. It was a warm and solid place and was where I most wanted to be in the world. It had four good walls and would, I thought, withstand the most violent storm.
It did not.
A storm beyond my understanding tore my house apart and left the fragments lying on the ground around me.
For some time now I have wandered among the remnants of my life, searching for small reminders of how fine this place used to be. But these ruins do not portray the house that once stood here…These shattered pieces say nothing of the warmth that this site used to know.
And yet, it seems a sacrilege to think of building again. Is there not some law of reverence that dictates this land remain barren? No new structure can approach the beauty of the old one. Since that storm tore my house down I have held these broken sticks and stones about me, a shrine to the loss I have endured…
So it is with my sad memorial. I gather in the wreckage now as if to say that death is not the defining moment of my child’s existence. In this wretched state I will not forget that he died. But what of remembering how he lived? How hard is it to grasp the beauty of his life from this vantage point of misery. This shabby mound ….does no justice to the memory of my son.
And so I must rebuild.
…the storm now travels within me, and there is no shelter…
Who can show me how to build here now? There are no architects, no experts in designing three sided houses. Yet so many people have advice for me. “Move on” they say, convinced that another house can replace the one I lost. Do they not know how completely we are tied to the houses we build? No soul takes kindly to a change in residence and if I “move on” that part of me will stay behind…
I am told that time heals all, as if this rubble will reassemble by itself if I just bide my time. Some friends will approach but stop and point, and tell me I must add another wall. As if I had a choice.
I know my neighbors wish…to see me safely housed again…they are also troubled by the air of dereliction that this ruin brings down upon the street. If I would just rebuild, they would not be confronted with reminders of natures’ cruelty…I put up siding and install shutters before the framework is in place. Is this outside-in construction the most sensible way for me to build my house? I doubt it.
Among those who want to see me rebuild are real heroes too. People who are not daunted by the wreckage. It is not a pleasant role to play - dust clings to those who come to see me and it will not wash off when they go home. They understand that the fourth wall is gone forever, and they make no pretense otherwise. They are willing to remember with me how fine this house used to be…they know how difficult this task is and no suggestion comes from them about how far along I ought to be.
…The will to build this house is slow to come. I toiled to build my first house and yet I know that this one will be so much harder to erect. My materials lie broken at my feet… What use are three sided houses anyway?
The only answer I can find is that they are more use than mounds of rock and ash. I know that even when this place is built it will be imperfect. In time my house will stand among my friends, no longer looking lost and ragged. And in fair weather I will look up at that open side more in appreciation of the beauty it once held, than in bitterness over what I have lost. But when the clouds roll in, that missing wall will leave me open to the rain. Floors and walls will sway and creak in the wind. In the end, the best my will and effort can deliver, will just make plain how crucial that fourth wall is to make this house complete.
But if it can possibly make sense to you, that is the reason why I must build. I must restore my life because only in that setting can the glory of what I might have had be visible. I must build this flawed, three sided house because it allows me to see how grand was the original when it stood here…if I am to honor his memory I must live by his example.”
To all of you rebuilding and shaping your future, whether it is whole or not, we must be try to be grateful for what was and what still is. And we will reshape what is, in memory of whatever or whoever we have lost. We must rebuild. We crave a sense of belonging and the motivation that others can give, sharing how they’ve navigated their struggles. That’s what I am attempting with this blog. I invite you into this tribe to share as well.