Back at the Table Again.

It's been relocated and the view isn't quite the same.

The sun doesn't come through our kitchen like it used to in our former home, and I can no longer see my pear tree or our neighborhood coming to life in the morning. 

Yes, that is painter's tape covering the holes on the screen door.
Don't hate, just appreciate that blood-sucking mosquitos won't drain you dry when you come visit us.  

You are so welcome.  

This particular place has been one missing major part of my routine for the past month or so.  

I've tried to substitute with different places around the house, but I kept staring wistfully at my table covered in tools in a room without a floor.  

At my designated space.  

At my visual reminder of her.  

Of Him.  

Of Living.   

There have been many days recently when I've wanted to call her and unload the burdens I've been carrying.  There have been days I needed her honest laughter and inevitable tears (even the ones that didn't count).  

It would be so nice to just talk once more.  
About nothing and everything. 

But of all the things, I'm always thankful that I learned to Live Better because of her.  I'm thankful she brought me the reality of living and dying and how to truly Live. 

I'm thankful for this space.  This table.  This place I can get honest with myself and with Him.  

Having it here, finally set up in our new space, makes it feel a little more like Home. 

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