As you all know, foreclosure proceedings started on our house about a year and a half ago.

And then about three weeks ago, we got a letter from a lawyer telling us the house was now officially in active foreclosure.

Which meant now the clock was seriously ticking.

Quickly.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been in this situation before.

When your house goes into foreclosure, someone from the bank routinely parks their car in front of your house, gets out, and takes a bunch of pictures.

It doesn’t matter if you are standing in the dining room looking out the window or if your kids are running up the front walkway.

They just whip out a camera and start snapping away.

It’s very unsettling at first. Then you just kind of get used to it.

Then there is the brown envelope hanging on the door.

The first time you come home from dropping the kids off at school or going to the grocery store or doing whatever normal, everyday thing you usually do to find one of those hanging there with a note inside that says Call Wells Fargo immediately, your stomach drops.

Then you get used to those, too.

That first time you call your mortgage company, you are given all your options. The first one is usually a loan modification.

You gather all the requested documentation, you fill out all the necessary paperwork, you resubmit stuff numerous times after being told different things by different people, and then you wait.

And wait.

A couple weeks later, you get the call.

There aren’t many things that suck more than knowing you could lose your house.

Except when you are facing foreclosure and get shot down for a modification.

That sucks even worse.

Because at least you had hope while you waited for the verdict.

The only thing that sucks more than being shot down for a modification the first time is being shot down for a modification a second time a few months later.

If you are lucky, you might have one more chance to apply for a modification.

Like we did.

You know what sucks more than being shot down two times for a modification?

Me either.

BECAUSE WE WERE  APPROVED.

WE WERE FUCKING APPROVED.

A-P-P-R-O-V-E-D!

APPROVED!!!

A-FUCKING-PROVED.

WE WERE APPROVED FOR OUR FUCKING LOAN MODIFICATION.

WE WERE APPROVED FOR OUR FUCKING LOAN MODIFICATION!!!!!!

yes. Yes. YES. Fucking YES. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

Holy shit.

Just a little while ago, Tyrone called, but I missed the call.

He left a voicemail.

All he said was the same usual scripted thing he always says.

So I couldn’t read into anything from the voicemail.

But if you read last Thursday’s post, you know that I spoke to Tyrone and the underwriter that day, and after I answered all their questions, they said they’d have an answer for us sometime this week.

It took me a few minutes to call him back today after I saw that I had missed his call. I was literally shaking and my heart was beating out through my chest.

Like beating so hard I could see it pulsing through my sweatshirt.

I dialed the number, and when he answered, again, he went through the same scripted shit he’s required to go through at the beginning of every call.

And then he said, “I’ve got a decision for you.”

“Um… okay?” I hesitantly answered him.

I felt like I was going to either shit my pants or puke.

Or both.

I held my breath.

“You’ve been approved,” he said.

“Shut. UP.” I said to him.

Then there was silence.

Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Tyrone to shut. up. until this whole approval thing was signed on the dotted line.

“Are you still there?” I asked him.

“I’m still here,” he said.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m serious.

And then the floodgates opened.

I cried. And I cried. And I cried. And I cried.

And in between sobs I thanked Tyrone. Profusely.

I don’t know what the hell he was thinking then. I imagine I’m not the only person to hear those three words and completely lose their shit.

But to go from wondering every day if you are going to see a lock and an eviction notice on your front door to knowing your home is still… your home,

is, um, well —

it’s really fucking awesome.

And so, today, a new life begins.

Today, the world is different.

Today there is hope.

Today is fucking awesome.

And so are all of you.

Thank you.

Thank you all for taking this roller coaster ride with me.

Thank you for all the support.

Thank you for the messages and emails and texts and Go Fund Me donations.

Thank you for the votes and the likes and the comments and the shares.

Thank you for the positive vibes and the prayers and for fucking everything.

Thank you.

Sincerely. Thank you all so much.

We are not totally out of the woods. We are not rolling around in bags of money.

But a year ago we had to go on food stamps. Six months ago my husband had a freak accident, and was left unable to work while he waited to have major surgery. And we have spent the last two years wondering how many days we had left in our house. My marriage has been through hell. HELL. My husband and I have been in a constant state of exhaustion and stress and anger and frustration.

We were down at the bottom of a deep, slippery black hole.

And now everything is different.

It has not been easy.

But we never threw in the towel. Even when it seemed like that might be the best or easiest thing to do, we stuck it out. Not just with each other. With surgeries and work (or the absence of it) and the kids and everything.

We kept going.

We clawed our way out of that fucking hole.

Most of the time it was not pretty.

It was really ugly.

But we are here. Finally.

Out of the hole.

At the end of the tunnel.

On the other side.

In the fucking light.

And it feels really fucking awesome.

If things are looking bleak for you, if you are just entering the tunnel and the light is nowhere in sight, keep going.

KEEP. GOING.

I know how it feels. I know what persevering in the neverending darkness feels like.

I know how devastating it is to climb a couple feet from the bottom of the deepest darkest hole only to slide right back down again.

And again.

And again.

It fucking blows.

But this feeling right here? The one where your hand finally makes it up out of the hole and onto the solid ground encircling it?

It’s worth every second of struggle.

And in the words of my college swim coach:

Tough times never last, but tough people do.