Twelve months ago my mother asked me to continue living with them so that I could help take care of dad a little longer. Regardless of how easily we got along - or didn't - they've been as good of parents as anyone can hope to have and I felt like I owed it to them for the assistance they've provided me. Twelve more months it is, madre.
It's been a long twelve months. I wouldn't have made it to thirteen.
Looking back on it, I'm not sure if agreeing to that extra year was the right move. As of tomorrow, though, it doesn't matter. I will have kept my word and satisfied my agreement.
I'll be in my new apartment by the next time I post, crooked toilet and all (yes, it's crooked).
(But it won't be for long.)
It will be uncomfortable to live alone again to be sure, but I can't wait to get my life back.
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