06/11/2026
One year ago today, my mom was diagnosed with AML. 🧡
It had only been 52 days since my dad passed away.
Looking back, I know I was devastated and terrified, but I had no idea how much life was about to change.
80 days after today, the day after my birthday. Her journey here was over and she was gone.
This was my mom’s last home.
To be honest, I never thought she should or could live alone in that house after everything she had been through. I worried constantly. I was checking on her, calling her, watching out for her, all day and all night.
But she was resilient. She was determined. And she proved me wrong.
She only lived here for three years, and my dad never got the chance to see it in person.
But when I stood in this empty room, I didn’t see an empty house.
When I look at pictures of her in this home, I don’t see empty walls or vacant rooms.
I see myself checking her cameras throughout the night, every hour, making sure she was okay.
I see the countless meals carried through that garage door, and I can still hear myself saying, “Knock knock.”
I see us sharing some of the best cups of coffee we’ve ever had together on that couch.
I see flashes of Kaylynn playing at her feet.
I see hard conversations, desperate prayers, laughter in unexpected moments, and memories that will forever be imprinted on my heart.
Real estate has taught me that houses are rarely just houses.
Sometimes they’re the backdrop to the moments that shape us.
Sometimes they’re where we love, grieve, pray, hope, and hold on.
As someone who has walked through losing both parents and eventually saying goodbye to a home filled with memories, I understand that some transitions involve far more than moving boxes and signing paperwork.
All of these photos are in her house. The first one is her first day moved in loving the rocking chair front porch.
Today im remembering my mama. I’m remembering the chapter that began with an AML diagnosis one year ago today, and I’m grateful for every memory made within these walls. 🧡❤️
