Have you ever done the same thing twice? I mean not driven down the same street or kissed the same guy but something much larger. Tomorrow I am buying the same house twice. The first time I was 23, newly engaged. I remember not wanting my name on the mortgage because I had traveled the world, lived in Haiti. I remember not wanting to be tied down, to own anything.

Yet I loved this house. I found it one night driving alone, an old Victorian with a turret, three stories—too much house my mother would say. When I was a child, I pointed to old spooky mansions, told my friends, I lived there. I finally found my home. I never thought I would love anywhere so much. I never have.

My babies were born there. I have one crab apple, 5 rose bushes, three lilacs and a cherry tree. I had a Japanese maple but she didn’t survive my absence. I hid Easter eggs in her corners and found horse hair in her towers. My daughters played Rapunsel and I played Jane Eyre. It was the place where I found my greatest hurt, where I was the closest to giving up. It is also the place where I brought my greatest love, where I stood in the circle and felt whole.

It is the home I left with my girls, four year ago. I left to be free of something that I couldn't understand--it followed me. I have watched the house fall apart and be neglected. I have mourned her, my house. I have let go.

And like some things do, sometimes if they are great loves, when you let go—they return. They return stronger, deeper and in some ways more entact. I have had this happen. I have loved twice. Now I need to mark it---I need you to understand. It is not the same but now finally, I am ready to sign my name.