exhale.

Diana

I can picture that house almost perfectly in my mind. The chattel house near the end of the gap.

The front door the rarely ever opened, because everyone used either the side door, or the back door.

The pristine front room with the most awful pink fluffy carpet. I only ever stepped foot in that room twice, once on a dare and the second just because.

The peeling plastic tile which revealed old wooden floors, which creaked as you walked.

The wooden television stand

The low cabinet next to the television stand, filled with shot glasses from places she'd never been and colourful china tea sets which were never used.

Walk softly past the cabinet, because almost everything would cause its contents to shake.

The sewing room, complete with three sewing machines and an open window to communicate with the lady next door, who always had someone to gossip about, and cherries to share.

Long afternoons were spent lying on the bed in the sewing room just watching, because we weren't allowed to touch.

Although you let she let me sew a few of my brownie badges onto my sash.

The other two bedrooms; one we were not supposed to enter, and hers with what seemed like the most comfortable bed ever.

I remember long nights spent curled up on the bed with a flashlight because one of us had a nightmare, and she was always calm and lulled us back to sleep through fables, never just stories, because she always wanted us to take something away.

The kitchen, with rows upon rows of spices and the occasional packet of red Kool-Aid, bought specially for us. The smell of bakes in the morning, and her latest baking project through the afternoon and into the night. Always ready to feed a hungry mouth whether ours, her neighbors or a visiting friend.

The garden was never really a garden, although she tried her best to make something out of the concrete area behind the house.

Everyday something new to be planted in the half barrels she'd laid out and filled with soil.

Strawberries, forget-me-nots, magnolias, tomatoes...somehow all of them bloomed under her care in her makeshift little garden.

Days that weren't spent in the sewing room or in front of the television, were spent either sitting on the red stairs at the back of the house, watching her work her magic or helping to the best of our ability.

But that house is no more.

Of course, it still stands, near the end of the gap...but it's no longer hers.

But where she is now,

She can have the garden of her dreams, or better and larger than she could ever imagine, filled to the brim with every kind of fruit, flower and vegetable known to man.

And everywhere she goes she'll bring happiness, scented with fresh flowers and baked goods.

...and I know...I know she's happy.

And I know she's reading this,

And I hope...I hope it brings a smile to her face.