These walls are ringing with laughter
They are drenched in tears and soaked in pain
They sigh with the weight of a lifetime of memories
They are saturated with stories and songs
They breath the cry of a baby; the lilt of a father’s voice
These wall are stained with struggle, scratched and dented with trials and feuds.
They cling to the paint that peels away to expose the mold of mistakes made
Fractured and cracked tiles tried to reconcile and found forgiveness in the art of their flaws.
Creaking stairs groan with the desperate prayers that shattered the air in the depths of despair and brought healing.
The ceiling is reeling with the feeling of kneeling before the King as one member and crying out:
This is our house. Our home: where Satan will roam no longer and we are made stronger as we sing to the King as family.
Now here I stand, my hand memorizing the land I was raised in. Each grain, divot and angle is a sliver of my mind. I am frozen in time as I rewind through the blinds and find myself near the kitchen shelf, where food no longer lingers. My fingers scan the sink: I think of how we'd drink straight from the faucet, my mom's voice yelling “stop it!”
Dissonant notes drift from the phantom piano in my mind. A child's hands land on the ivory, making chords and strands of a melody. She turns to grin at her feat as loving parents treat her to praise for her serenade. The crackle of flames as we played board games, waves of heat to beat the winter cold and bold flecks of snow flying with our dice on the carpet. A cry upstairs leads to pairs of frightened eyes in the dark of night. Pattering feet make a hasty retreat to the safety of daddy's strong arms and mommy’s protection from harm between the blankets and pillows. A golden sunrise leads to adventures outside; trees to climb and bikes to ride, mermaids and cowboys, escaped slaves and so many toys. Rustling leaves shed buds of green; lapping waves on sandy beaches, sunshine days full of ice cream with peaches. A million laughs and a thousand hugs, cake in the bath with a bubble filled tub. Sights and sounds and smells of the past, and I'm the last to feel this memory so real. Grazed walls and scratched floors full of knicks and dents meant to tell stories and prevent us from forgetfulness. I soak in the lifetime of love that's been lived inside these four walls as I walk down the hall. I'm here at the door for the last time it seems. This whole dreadful process feels like a bad dream as the seams of my mind strain to drag out the time. But the tick of the clock resounds as the lock clicks and my life is quickly drug away to lay in the way of another child who will play in this place. And in my mind, these walls I have loved all my life have just crumbled and fallen and died.
