Saturday, September 17, 2011

and it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer unto Father time

we are finally moved out of the old apartment into the new house. I forgot how much I love living in a house (even if it's the basement). I love our little white gate, and our doorbell, and the fact that we all have our own space.

I am still figuring out what to put where... we have too much space and not enough things. Such a sad predicament, right?

I look forward to painting and decorating. I wish my mom was here to help, that is something she is so incredibly talented in. And while we cannot agree on clothes my mother is especially talented at helping a person's personality come through their decorations. She is also great at finding quality things for discount prices.

My mom is sick again. I think we all thought that after her wreck she would do like she has our entire lives; pick things up and everything would go back to normal. But it didn't and she hasn't. When I went home for the first time to visit her there was this awkward laugh stuck in my throat when I saw her limp into the room. My heart broke. That night both Gabe and I went to bed entirely depressed. My mom wasn't my mom. There was this person inside of that body fighting to get out. There still is.

I think of all the things my mom has done over the years, the people she has helped, the strength she has had... I am grateful that everyday when I look in the mirror I see a bit of her.

I am proud to be her daughter.