The Doorbell

The morning Max died, two troopers came to my door.  I saw them walking by the bank of windows in my front room.  I am still not sure if they rang the doorbell or if I met them at the door before that happened.  Since that day, the ringing of the doorbell has freaked me right out. I did not want ANYONE or ANYTHING to violate my home again ... so I did NOT want that doorbell to ring!


I used to be able to ignore the door during the day if it rang ... not any more ... what if something ELSE has happened and there is another trooper waiting for me?  I HAVE TO ANSWER THAT DOOR.  The deeper issue associated with that is when they showed up on my doorstep that morning, they were the messengers of something that shattered the heart of safety and security in my home.  Sudden death had come to my 18 year old son.  He was not coming home tonight ... or ever again.  My safe, welcoming home was hit with a trauma nobody could have been prepared for ahead of time. 

I have been working on that piece in counseling the last few weeks - how do I build back that feeling of safety and security, when in reality, at any moment another trauma could be at my door?  Can I ever trust building my home again?  And as I worked through this with my counselor, she asked me if I knew those troopers were coming to the door that morning with bad news, would I have answered the door?  As I contemplated that, I came to the answer "yes" because I needed the information from the main source.  So no matter who is coming to my door in the future, I will answer it because I want answers.  The death happened.  There was no denying or getting around that - whether I answered the door or not.  And also in that session, I realized that NOTHING anyone would bring to my door could be worse than what I had already endured that hot summer morning.  That was the worst of the worst. 

Armed with those two pieces of information, I decided to ask Todd to hook up the doorbell again.  And when I feel anxiety, I tell myself "I want to know whatever information that person has" and "I can survive whatever they are bringing".  I have learned that although anxiety is *very* difficult and painful, it does not produce death.  I am being quite serious.  I will not die from the anxiety, so I would rather face it head on. 

Then I looked at my porch.  Not a very welcoming space.  Dark, dusty, no color, with yellow tape over the doorbell, an unused garden table with two chairs collecting dirt and twigs, very boring.  So I decided to change that today to be more inviting and welcoming.   I added two very colorful chair pads and a bright tropical plant to the table.  The empty flower bed that is completely shaded that an outdoor cat had been using as a litter box is now full of Colorado river rock.  And there is a bright new “welcome” mat at the doorstep.  The doorbell is re-engaged.  And I am working on trusting the security of my home and opening up hospitality once again … being ready for whomever and whatever comes to my door.