To make a list.

As I sat looking around my house (it still sounds weird to say that, my house), I was starting to get overwhelmed by all the stuff that I wanted to get done. All the things I needed to get fixed. All the things I wanted to do. All the little projects I wanted to try. A friend was over to help me scrub floors, and vacuum out the vents.

I'm so thankful for friends that will teach me how to use a shop vac. (and for realtors that will let me use their shop vac.)

We found all kids of stuff in the vents.

Back to the point. She told me to make a list with all the small tasks that needed to get done. Then just start ticking them off. She said not to put things like "clean floors," but to put things like "clean living room floors," or, "remove staples from living room floor. So I made a list, in expo marker, on the giant living room mirror wall.

And thanks to some rusty staples, I added one more thing to my list... A tetanus shot. Well I made it two days into this thing without a trip to quick care.

To buy a house.

Today's the day. Another one of those moments where I feel like everything that comes after today will be distinctly different than those that came before. At 1630 today, I close on the house... If all the paperwork goes through. I'm tentative. This path has been filled with so many delays that I'm almost scared to hope that at five o'clock tonight, I will own a house. But all signs point to that right now. I can't wait to start to establish roots. This vagabond's life will change dramatically today, Lord willing and the creek don't rise. Since I left for college almost 8 years ago, I haven't lived in a place I planned to stay in for more than a year. I haven't bothered to even unpack completely in any of the places that I've lived. That changes today. Everything changes today.

Here is a picture of my realtor handing me the keys!

Here's me and some friends checking out the house today!

And Stephanie bought me a celebratory canolli. Apparently that's a thing?

To live 15 years without her.

I'm not sure why it became common to measure the time that has passed since a loved one died. I don't know how old she would be. Her birthdays have ceased to be important. But I know I've lived 15 years without her.

I've heard my mother was an amazing woman. I don't remember a whole lot, to be completely honest. And I know my view is warped, because, in my mind, she was perfect. And I know that no one is perfect or even good.

But I do know that April day 15 years is one of those times you look back on and see a clear divide between what came before and what came after. There are lots of days like that. Graduations of sort. When you graduate, you don't know all the ways your life is about to change, but you know that everything that is coming after is different from what came before. Marriages, having children, changing jobs, moving, they are draw lines in the sand that you can't return from.

I like where I'm at in life right now. I know I wouldn't be here if mom were still alive. But I struggle to fight those what ifs that start to creep in sometimes.

I know my God is good, and I know my God is powerful. I guess when it comes to wondering what good God is working though my mothers death, I'll have to trust his character. Because I don't know how to trace his hand.

To sit in mama's chair.

I love to just sit and talk with my sister. Those long, lazy, reminiscing conversations are getting rarer and sweeter the older I get. Now that 600 miles and three little boys that take her answering the phone as their cue to go crazy separate us, it's hard to sit down and just talk.

Last Sunday was one of those rare times. We had just celebrated Easter and my oldest nephews birthday. The boys were upstairs watching a movie and my sister and Ijust talked. We talked about buying a house. Then we talked about how I planned on decorating the house. Somehow we started talking about my mama's chair. We talked about how we missed mama, she'd died when we were young. We talked about what she'd think of us now.

I told my sister I'd been looking for chairs like that to put in my house. They were strong and stately chairs. The kind of chairs that make you feel like you should be making important decisions in them. Maybe smoking a cigar and debating the future of economic relations with China. They were chairs that made you feel like you could do anything. They were also the chairs that my mom would sit in every morning well before the sun came up, and read her Bible and journal. They were the chairs that her and my sister sat and talked in the night before she died. They were weighty chairs. There were two of them. One was a mauve color that went well with a house decorated entirely in pastel pinks and blues, and the other has some nice pastel pink and blue flowers on a silky off white background.

As we sat and talked that Sunday night, my sister and I remembered these chairs with a resigned nostalgia. We both assumed they were sold in the yard sale when we lost the house we grew up in the summer after she'd had her first son and I'd gone off to college. Neither of us had had time or space to save the chairs we'd loved. We never imagined we'd see them again.

Later that week, as I was cleaning out the building at my grandmothers house where we'd stored all the stuff left when the yard sell was over, I was flooded with the memory of a time gone. I found my mom's favorite paintings, and the old steamer trunk we'd used as game storage growing up. I found the old love seat I'd slept on so many nights when we'd have sleepovers with friends downstairs. I found a cast iron skillet passed down from generations before me.

Then, as I was digging to the back corner to look at an old baker's rack my grandmother said I could have. I found the most poised member of the family: mama's chair. I sent a text to my sister, and I'm fairly certain we both wept that day. As I sat in that chair, I felt truly home for the first time in a long time. The mustiness of the building couldn't mask the faint smell of a home lost on the wings of the chair. The stains and cat claw marks couldn't fully hide the strength this chair possessed. She had the strength to bring several adults to a weeping mass of joy. I finally conceded the chair to my sister, sad to see her go, but happy my sister could sit in mama's chair again. But the day wasn't over yet.

When I got back to my aunt's house, I was telling her about the chair, how happy my sister was to get to sit in mama's chair again. Then my aunt told me that she knew where the other chair was. That for the 25 dollars her friend had spent at the yard sale, my sister and I could both have one of mama's chairs. We are both planning to reupholster the chairs and place them in our living room. I can't wait to get it recovered so I can introduce my friends to my mama's chair.