If These Walls Could Talk

If these walls could talk they would tell you many stories.  Stories about an a man and a woman, a boy and a girl, and a little dog, and their lives and their hopes and their dreams and the past four years.

They would tell you about the joy of June 15, 2007 when they turned the key, their very own key, in the lock of 5245 Lake Edge Drive and called it their home and their own.

They would tell you about the birth of a baby boy and his late night
feedings that turned into a lot of late night television watching.

They would point you towards a chair where the lady curled up on the phone with her dad and listened to him laying out the groundwork for Mia's Memorial Golf Tournament.

They would try to recreate the joyful exuberance of a man arriving home, champagne in hand, to celebrate a great promotion.

They would recount a little girl's first days of school and the little plaid jumper she wore and the little blue lunchbox she carried with her name fancily embroidered across the front.

They would groan at the memory of a little dog yap, yap, yapping at everyone and anyone who strolled past until her masters scolded her into silence.

These walls could get a little choked up re-telling of the days when a family returned home after burying a father, a grandfather, all too soon, all too unexpected.

But now the walls will be silent with stories of this family and this life.  And another will live within these walls.  And these walls will hold their stories.  And other walls will tell ours.

Good-bye 5245.