After years of struggling in a marriage that was no longer working, a friend of mine, Denise, finally decided to walk away. It wasn’t an easy decision, especially since she had two young daughters and would be facing life as a single mom in her forties. I would later tell her, “Sometimes it takes more love to leave than to stay—love for yourself, your children, and even your estranged spouse. Sometimes leaving is the only true way to move forward.�?BR>
By leaving her marriage, Denise was also giving up her beautiful large home in town, with its long, wrap-around driveway, sprawling front porch and back deck, and endless yard. A simpler life started to call her. She decided to move out to the country into the little pink house where her late grandmother had lived her entire life. Her grandmother had only passed away the year before, and the house was still filled with her belongings—overflowing with them, actually.


On moving day, when Denise arrived at the pink house with her daughters and the family dog, the task before her seemed overwhelming. Inside the house there was hardly even a place to sit. Like many in her generation, Denise’s grandmother never threw anything away. The upstairs bedrooms were clogged with hundreds of vinyl records and books, furniture, and trinkets collected over nearly a century of living. The bedrooms had ceased serving their intended purpose and were now a glorified attic. Denise’s grandmother, a tough and feisty former preacher woman, had slept downstairs on the couch, foregoing a traditional bedroom. The downstairs too, was cluttered with knickknacks and hundreds more books, especially the classics and many titles long since forgotten. Grandmother’s years of smoking had yellowed the ceilings and walls throughout.

Starting over seemed like an impossibly cruel feat. There wasn’t even an adequate bedroom for her or her daughters to sleep in, for heaven’s sake. Perhaps she hadn’t made the right choice, Denise worried.

That’s when the brigade arrived. Denise’s parents, brothers, cousins, friends, and new neighbors, as well as her older son from a first marriage and that first ex, began pulling into the small dirt-laden driveway. Eventually, the driveway and old country road leading to the house were lined with the cars and trucks that carried special guardian angels to Denise’s aid.

Denise was no longer standing alone before the daunting task. It became a team effort forged from love and friendship, a unified goal to help a friend to move ahead—not backward.

A chain of workers wound through the back door and up the stairs, handing off books and records and other items to one another until they were removed from the house. Denise’s mother began scrubbing the kitchen to make the smoke stains disappear. Denise and some cousins cleared the musty living room, opening the windows to let in the fresh country air while they started applying a fresh coat of white paint to the walls. Denise’s son and his father began to restructure the bathroom and later transformed a storage area off the side of the house into a cozy family room. Denise’s daughters ran errands, getting water for the workers and carrying old boxes and scrap wood outside to a roaring fire. And the family dog, Duchess, raced around, becoming acquainted with the new sights and smells.

By the end of the exhausting weekend, the little pink house had a clean, charming front porch, downstairs rooms that smelled of pine and lemon, and an upstairs that was now inviting, as two freshly painted bedrooms, one in green and one in yellow, awaited Denise and her daughters�?first nights in residence. Later, Denise’s son would create a back patio with bricks recycled from beneath the front yard, and cheerful plants and flowers would surround the house.

The little pink house was once more a home—Denise’s new home. Thoughts of the large house and her former life in town were now miles away behind her. She soon realized that deep within her, she possessed the strength and courage and feisty nature of her grandmother, whom we all knew would be thrilled to see her house reinvigorated and enjoyed in this special way.

Best of all, in those forty-eight hours, Denise realized that the new journey she had embarked on was not one she would have to travel alone. Her new life would be filled with the warmth and security of unconditional love and friendship, gifts she believed would render no future endeavor impossible. Especially in her little pink house.