My home is in Atlanta, Georgia, and I live here with my husband and two cats. Five years ago, a series of events lead to some major changes in my life.
One of those events was when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. In the year between her diagnosis and her death, as my real estate agent she helped me buy the home of my dreams, a third floor condo in Inman Park with eight windows, ten doors, and 14' ceilings. It kind of came out of left field.
When I closed on my condo, my mom was officially in remission. A couple months later she got sick again, and just a month after that she was gone.
I gave a eulogy at my mom's memorial service where I tried to explain the depth of love and loss I was experiencing at her death. I don't think I'll ever come close to getting to the bottom of it. But it colors my days now. It's a veil over my eyes, real life existing side by side with end-of-life.
I see her so much in the littlest things. The color of the azalea bush I pass on my way to work in the spring. Changing weather in the fall. Driving by a certain part of town. A floral pattern shoe.
After I moved in to the condo but before she got sick again, my mom came over one splittingly golden afternoon and spent her little energy washing my windows and repainting all the baseboards. She brought me a new broom. I see her in the baseboards. I see her in the broom.
My goal in life is to work towards a place of at-ease-ness in my home and in myself. Dealing with loss and grief was a major cause of my desire to lessen my footprint on the world. There's something about acknowledging impermanency that makes me want to live a thoughtful, considered, simple life. I hope to explore these ideas here, and that something useful may be learned from all of it.