The rug I bought for my front door is an ugly brown but I couldn’t resist buying it for its message:

Home Sweet Home.

How sweet is a home after seven months of not having my own place?

This week marks a very special occasion as I can move in and bask in the bliss of having my home.

It’s been a long, arduous journey, one filled with pitfalls and problems every step of the way.

Before I could even rebuild the home we had to jump through hoops to get permits and satisfy legal requirements.

I learned there is a 50% FEMA rule that requires any structure with damages exceeding 50 percent of its market value to be brought up to code in full compliance with current regulations.

Well of course I want that.

While it means rebuilding will cost more - a heck of a lot more - no one who has gone through the trauma of being in a hurricane wants to have it happen again.

I gladly wanted to have everything brought up to present code with as many safety improvements as possible.

But before we could have the rebuilding permit we had to provide proof the house would be at least 10 feet above flood level.

That meant hiring a surveyor and delaying construction. My builder told me even though I had paid a lot of money for the tear down and initial reconstruction we would have to stop rebuilding if the lowest part of the house wasn’t at least 10 feet above.

After much anxiety and prayer, I learned my house was 10.1, just meeting the FEMA requirement.

I didn’t often visit the construction project because it tore at my heart to see the rooms I once loved no longer there.

Finally the contractor told me I would be in the home Easter weekend.

My two daughters, who have been extraordinary, scheduled off work and paid for expensive plane tickets during Easter week so they could be there to help me unload the storage locker.

Before they bought their plane tickets we kept checking with the contractor to verify the house would be ready to move in.

When my daughters arrived the house had no kitchen and no electricity. Everywhere we looked was unfinished rooms and plenty of workers scurrying to complete everything.

There was no way we could be there.

Fortunately my friend Priscilla offered us the use of her wonderful home that is only 12 minutes from my house.

When the moving van arrived with the contents of my storage locker it was exciting to see what survived.

My daughters said I was like a kid at Christmas as I picked up some favorite pieces.

Oh look, here are my framed wildlife photos. ... Oh look here are my nautical decorations.

It’s better to rejoice at what survived than to grieve for everything that was lost.

A neighbor told me it took her weeks to unload her storage locker and put everything back in place.

By working from sunup to sundown my daughters and I did it in five exhausting days.

There are not enough words of praise for all my daughters did.

“We just want to see you happy and back in your home,” Maria said.

I moved in a week after they flew home.

I know I’ve always appreciated my home. But after the flood wiped me out that appreciation has multiplied.

I was filled with gratitude the first night I could once again sleep in my own home.

There were problems, of course, and the general contractor still has men working on finishing.

The air conditioning wasn’t installed properly in my lanai and it’s too hot to be there. But the contractor is a man of his word so I believe he will have it fixed.

Isn’t it extraordinary to be able to say someone is a man of his word?

Many of us who were victims of the hurricane were also victims of contractors that required half down then disappeared. Or those that did shoddy work that the homeowner only discovered after the out-of-state contractor disappeared.

What some hurricane victims discovered was that the cheapest and fastest contractors to arrive weren’t necessarily the best choice.

My friends and I used only well-regarded local contractors, thinking they would be more reliable in the long run.

Even so, with any major construction there are bound to be blips that need correcting. I’m believing for the best.

One thing that keeps astonishing me is the goodness of my neighbors. When I lost my key ring I couldn’t move my car, get in the house, or get my mail from my locked mailbox.

Lois offered to take me for food, Angel and Charley managed to activate my emergency car key and Chris said he could drill open the mailbox.

My daughters were impressed with how so many neighbors came to help. It’s one more reason why I like the neighborhood.

Most of us on this street had heavy hurricane damage. We will be dealing with clean up and fix up for a long time.

But through it all we will be there for each other.

I am also appreciative of readers who sent me encouraging notes of support throughout my ordeal.

My heart sings with gratitude.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net