The Mortgage Wolf

I couldn't do it. Standing in my garage clutching my car keys, none of it made sense. The final walkthrough of the house was scheduled for Monday or Tuesday. No one had given me any instructions about the cashier's check. I hadn't seen a final draft of the loan documents. I'd just gotten an email from the real estate agent that I didn't understand. And wait, the voice inside my head said, you're almost 60, and shouldn't you be downsizing? And my, that's a mighty big loan, my dear--you'll never live to pay that off. Debt opened its maw like a fairy tale wolf, and its big bad teeth were aimed at my throat. No one's got my back, I thought. So I cancelled my appointment with the escrow company.

Oh, I'm still going through with the deal. But I'm going to do the final walkthrough of the house before I sign the loan papers. And instead of rushing downtown to sign loan papers and rushing back, I had a  leisurely four-hour meeting with my financial adviser planning for this and that. Afterwards, I crawled in bed with the heating pad, music on my laptop, both phones, and Adrienne Rich's book of poems, "Diving into the Wreck." And despite the angst, one of the thoughts I didn't have was that it would have been worth it to stay married. Nope. It's better to take out a giant loan all by myself. It's better to know what it feels like to be loved. It's a joy to buy a big house where there's room for my family, and in a couple of months when I'm walking down to my boat dock about to paddle off in my kayak, if I feel the eyes of some monster on the back of my neck, that monster won't be my signature on a piece of paper, it'll be the shadow of a man who barely tolerated me. I'll dip my paddle into the water. I won't look back.