The Weeds Grow Through The Wall

26 Jul

After work I had a bit of an emotional workout. Before I get into this, I should go into small details about my past.

My mother passed away September 30, 2006. I was a freshman in college, and didn’t see her for about 2 months before her passing. We weren’t incredibly close. I was often left hanging or upset because of her. We all have our crutches, hers ruined a family and her life.

She was gorgeous when she was my age. She was a model for a few companies, very talented in many arenas. But, like I said… Humans are flawed and we all have our quirks.

My mother was the blonde

Moving forward, my Nana (Mom’s mom) lived in a HUGE HUGE house before the passing of my Poppy. Once that happened, she just left the house that was built in the 1890’s. She left the memories and the past to basically rot.

Weeds coming through the window! Weeds coming from the floor!

Needless to say, the house was getting creepy. There are literally 30 doors going NO WHERE in the house! I found a whole room I didn’t know was there. It was covered all the years I visited the house.

big hole in the ceiling

So, after examining the house I was able to go into my mom’s room where she grew up. A lot of her things have been kept in her room since her death and I guess now is a good time to go through them.

After collecting a bunch of Christmas decor, an antique corner chest, and a few odds and ends.. I was ready to get out. Then I found this little beauty:

Before I started to love Brussel Sprouts

I was a little out of it from moving everything and being in a house the was housing rats and mice, I knew I needed to get out . I decided I needed to clear my head, so I took a nice mile and half jog. Let’s hope I’m ready for the day tomorrow.

Goodnight, Readers!

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One Response to “The Weeds Grow Through The Wall”

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  1. Beating Lupus « Be Fit Train Hard - August 11, 2011

    […] a previous post, I wrote about my mother. I would not be able to explain my reasoning for doing the next race if I didn’t bring up my […]

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