What's mine is hers.

I started decorating. Not my usual MO but I love how the house feels with Christmas decorations up. I love the warmth of the lights. I love the peaceful feeling of the season. Plus it's giving me something to focus some energy on. Cause I'm a pro at being vegan now, obviously.  So I have a mantle conflicted. On one side it says "gobble" and on the other, there's a silver metal Christmas tree. Whatever.

So much of my Christmas stuff has Mom stamped all over it. I have these carolers, it's a little boy and a little girl. They're probably almost as old as I am. And they are holding sheet music, singing (they don't actually make noise). They're my favorite. They're Mom's favorite. All of my garland came from Mom. My nutcrackers came from her. Dining room table centerpiece, hers. I haven't gotten out the ornaments yet but I know what's in those boxes. Years of ornaments from Mom. Photo frame ornaments from Mom.

Then I looked around the house. My kitchen table is 30 years old. It's the table we ate at when we were growing up. My dining room table and buffet. From Mom. Random couches and chairs throughout the house. Moms. The fireplace we just built? Mom's idea. There is a piece of her in every inch of our house. My closet? Forget about it. The red shoes. The cute dresses she picks up for me because "it looked like you Tootie". It's like every corner I turn has her stamp, her monogram on it. And I've never been so grateful for it.

The big way we celebrate birthdays and holidays? That's Mom. The Mom I am? The way I parent? That's a lot of Mom. Sometimes when I open my mouth, she comes out. My firm handshake, her. Emerson's willingness to try anything at least once? Her. Cannon's passion for being right? Her. The list goes on.

We are all so scared. Terrified of what lies ahead and how it's going to go and what happens next. No one more scared than Mom. It has to be impossible to get your head around just not being here anymore. I can't get my head around it. I'm terrified for all of us. What do we do without our glue? And I know she feels like she just disappears. But I'm not worried about not remembering, I'm worried about not being able to think or talk about anything else.

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