My mom was the one who could see. Who could create beautiful things with her hands. Who knew how to make her environment lovely.She made almost all of the aesthetic decisions about my home for my entire adult life. Painting the walls, choosing the wallpaper, making the curtains. Because she was good at it, and I was lost in it. It was a happy marriage. Now that she's gone, and it's once again time to attack interior design, I am completely lost. And so I stand in the paint aisle at the Home Depot and cry.
This is when I would've called her, and she would've talked me through it - from the overwhelming color choices to the stupid gloss/satin/eggshell/matte decision. She would've clucked a bit at my inability to grasp it all, but been happy to ply her expertise.
To the extent that I can traffic at all in things like gardening and home decorating, I owe it all to her. Since she's been gone, I live between two extremes. Either to admit that these talents were truly hers and stop dabbling in them myself, or to continue to honor her memory by applying what little I managed to absorb. I know what the solution is. But like all children - grown or not - who have lost a parent, I really want her to take care of it instead.
