Seasons

I have been silent.

Ever so silent.

My Dad passed away in the wee hours of Tuesday, October 14th in his sleep. It was something I had to worry about, as he was an insulin dependent diabetic. I spoke to him that evening, Monday evening. It was about a 20 minute conversation: light. concerned. contemplative. ordinary. "See you Thursday."

Thursday was the day he took my son, G to karate. It was their special time together.

The next morning the cleaning maids found him, long gone.

I am now an orphan.

I am now the maternal head of my family line. I still feel like a small child finding my way in the world.

We have decided to move into my parent's house, located across town from our present house and our network of friends. We will have one of our friends not far from us, and my SIL close. We are moving from a weak school district to the #4 Place to Live in the DFW area. We gain 1,000 sq. ft., a place 40 years newer, and a true neighborhood with lots of neighborhood playmates. We have a HUGE backyard in which I have finally convinced my husband to have a pool built.

But most of all, I am not moving into a childhood home, but a home filled with memories. The word "memories" to me, always connotates something good.

These aren't good memories.

These are memories of a mother withering from cancering until her last breath. And a father passing of a heart attack. A broken heart, really.

This is my inheritance. I hope to fill it with good memories. Fill it to the brim. I hope to fill it with laughter and life milestones. I hope to change the dread I feel every time I have the intent to travel to that house to joy. I hope to make it home. My home.