We stood among the empty boxes in our first apartment. A mere quarter of our possessions from the house on Van Dyke Road easily filled the space. Standing silent, exhausted, knee deep in abandoned cardboard, it seemed as if the moment was calling us to either laugh or cry. I looked up to catch my mother’s eye, to find her lead. Packing tape still stuck to one elbow, she Vanna White-ed her arms across the brown mess and said, “One day, this will all be yours…” We burst into laughter.

And it was true! Is true! This ability to find joy in the moment, this knowledge that one way or another, we’re going to have to let it all go, emotionally, physically, spiritually… this is what she gave to me.

It was a special week for me. I sold a painting and I gave one away. Joy requires no measurement. Both were different experiences, but completely filled my heart!

She’s still the first person I want to call, my mom, amid the joy. But somehow I believe she knows. She’s standing by as I pack the painting to be shipped. She’s holding my vulnerable heart as I spin the other for the big reveal. The gift that was given to me so long ago, bubbles to the surface, and all I can do is laugh.

I am loved. My one day is every day. I do have it all.