When I finish decorating it's almost like my mother is back in the room. These are almost her colours, the ones she painted when I was a girl. The walls are cream, but not like the stuff I pour in my coffee, there is a hue of beach sand there. The floor is a dark walnut, just like she had, but not the laminate that was installed to withstand the abuse that children and dogs dish out. It's real wood now, and I know she would have liked that. But unlike her my accents are green, not blue. Mom grew up in a seaside town, but moved inland, so she missed the ocean. My colours are the forest canopy and the gnarled bark of the trunks. Instead of her rolled blinds at the windows I hang rich velvet curtains that remind me of moss. It's odd being here without her. I always felt like this was my home
