Friend, I don’t have any Pinterest-worthy pictures for you today. No projects to get your creative juices going. No recommendations on fabulous finds or tips for halting the avalanche of stuff in your closets. I’ve got a half-full cup of hot coffee and an even fuller heart. Mind if I share that with you today?

I’ve spent this morning feeding little grinning faces fresh blueberries and watching my feet as they chase each other, Eli with his lion-faced walker and Ada with her baby doll stroller. I’ve swept the floor over and over again only to find more cereal puffs after the broom is hanging again in the laundry room. Any minute now, Jeff, my new contractor-friend, will be here to work on the basement where we’re building my mom’s apartment. He will work for awhile and then stop for a Mt. Dew break and we’ll chat about everything from how to hang drywall to memories he has of his late-son, Jeremy, who would be about my age.

It’s almost time for me to start making decisions about the apartment’s flooring and paint colors, things I’d normally be thrilled to think about, but it’s all tinged with a little sadness. For one, I’ll miss the hum of activity and the little progresses. Renovation can be empowering, you know? I’ve reveled in the little successes, the problems solved and sometimes I wonder if I’m always starting projects because I’m addicted to the thrill of overcoming the obstacles.

The big thing is that the finished apartment means closing the door on the house where Mom and Grandma lived; the house where we circled around Grandma’s bed as she took her last breath. I ache just thinking about closing that door one last time.

I know my mom is grateful to be moving in here and I am grateful, too, but in the last six months I’ve watched her lose her mother, her hope of a transplant and now, her house. When she spent the first part of this week hospitalized, her poor body failing in new ways, will she find any joy in this new space? Sure, it’ll be pretty but I wonder if it will ever be home. Will there be enough paint to cover that it’s her daughter’s basement? I try not to dwell on that. Instead, I think about subway tile. Yes, gray subway tile in the shower. Wonder if I can find a good price on that?

I take a sip of coffee and think of how brave it is to crawl out of bed each morning and see the mug half-full. I hope that when things settle again this evening and I sit down on this sofa with a nighttime cup of coffee (a habit I inherited from my Papaw) that I still see the mug half-full.

So, cheers, friend. Here’s hoping your mug is half-full, too.