you really don’t want to read this.

My dad has to sell the house. The house that screams “mom”. From the snowman propped by the door all year long for Izzy’s sake, or the portrait of mom as a child posted at the end of the hall. From the paint on the walls to the bedroom where I kissed her for the last time.

It  goes on the market this weekend, and the day that he actually sells it will absolutely be the worst day of my life.

This house that holds all the memories I will ever have my mom with my babies.

I have a lot of bad memories from that house too. It’s not the house I grew up in, and it used to mean nothing to me. Even though this will be torture to write, and probably torture for some of you to read… here goes… some good memories.

It’s the pasture where she and dad worked together. Building fences. Toiling in the dirt. Working out their stuff. It’s the field where she threw horse poop at me, and only stopped when I jumped on her. She was just days out of her hysterectomy surgery.

It’s the porch where she met me at the door for the last time. She tried to pick up Izzy, and even though she was too weak to do it, somehow she managed. With the biggest smile on her face.

It’s the Christmas, our last one together, where we played apples to apples and mom laughed so hard she almost peed her pants. We all did.

It’s the worship nights, the barbecues, the meetings, the anniversary parties and reunions that mom planned. Cause she was the peacemaker.

It’s the couch where she always sat and fed Eva bottles. I kept Eva on the bottle longer than I should have because it was the only thing my mom could do for her at the end.

It’s the garden that she loved. Izzy would follow her around and eat tomatoes. Mom would tell her all about how I did that when i was a little girl and played with the “bean cows.”Or the time when she made me and Nick and the girls hide in the corn while she took pictures and called us the “Children of the Corn.”

It’s the bedroom where we went “Cotton Candy Fishing” out the window for Izzy. We were piled on mom’s bed surrounded by Easter baskets and candy and peeps. Our last Easter together.

It’s the crowd of women that filled her bedroom, her best friends from work, all to say goodbye. Their tears and laughter washing over all of us like a balm.

It’s the bedside where my grandma sat, day in and day out, caring for her daughter. I don’t think I could love my grandma more for those moments.

It’s where I told mom that we would only be separated for the blink of an eye.

And now… cause this really is torture… I’ll end this. But I pray that God floods my mind, slowly, with more memories of her. Enough to fill the gaps for the four girls coming up behind me. I’ve got 28 worth locked up somewhere in this brain of mine, and I think we’re going to need them all.

Oh God . . . I couldn’t do this without You.


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