And still, her eaves never groaned under the weight that was our family.
This house, if her walls could whisper of the things she has seen…
They would boast the tale of a young couple just starting our life together, so far from home.
Of the painstaking care that same couple took in carrying each of our little ones over her threshold.
Of the many sleepless nights my bare feet have spent pacing up and down her hallways, an infant cradled in my weary arms.
Of the precious sound of tiny bare feet creeping down that same corridor to the safety of Mama and Daddy’s bedside.
She would stand tall to show the penciled markings on her kitchen wall. The ones labelled Jack, and then Charlotte, and then Cecily. A tiny demarcation to delineate a visual sign of how quickly the years go by; to remind us that time never ceases to march on, even when a mother’s aching heart would will it otherwise.
Good-bye, squeaking doors…
shower walls that never shine to my satisfaction, no matter how hard I might scrub.
sing-song cadence of our childrens’ voices as they play with their little friends from down the street.
majestic oak trees that never seem to lack leaves to drop in our gutters…
neighbors who never seem to lack a kind gesture to brighten our day.
Good-bye, dear friend.
May the next family blessed enough to call you home find even a fraction of the joy we have within your walls.
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