If These Walls Could Speak

I've been pondering home a lot lately.  How people live -- how they spend their time when in their most comfortable spaces.  As I drove by houses, I often wonder about the families inside, just going about the day to day, from mundane to thrilling, sorrowful to joyful.  So much of our lives are spent in our homes - hopefully our houses cradle us -- they give us refuge from the world, become our safe space to land.

A couple of years ago, I blogged about our dining room (you can read that here) and all the memories ensconced inside that one little room.  I also blogged about our recliner and all the memories I have in that very chair.  Since I am prone to nostalgia (surprise, surprise!), it made me think about all the memories our whole house holds - some I remember, many I don't (sniff, sniff), PLUS all the events that took place in our house before we moved in!  If these walls could speak, indeed!

So as I'm beginning to embark on exploring the stories our house holds, a few come to mind immediately:

• the early morning sound of padded feet, tucked into footie jammies, looking for mommy
• a bumped head while playing a crazy game with brothers
• cries of elation over good news - a desired part in a play, a good report card, college acceptances, news of vacation plans
• cries of sadness - mourning our miscarriages, the passing of loved ones, broken hearts, disappointments
• newborn baby cries - five times as each of our little ones were welcomed home into this house
• mamma tears as the children begin to fly from the nest
• a casual "I love you mommy" or "you're the best daddy ever!" from a tiny, precious voice
• hugs, kisses, cuddles, wrestling matches, tickle attacks
• toddler baths, full of splashes and shrieks of joy
• teenager feet pounding up and down the stairs
• love -- lots and lots of love

If these walls could speak, oh how I would listen.  I would soak it all up - the good and bad.  These walls have been our safe place; our sacred space for 23 years.  So much of our history I have forgotten, no matter how idealistic I was - "I'll never forget this!" and how carelessly I took for granted what I would now see as precious.  

Maybe they can speak, a little bit anyway.  They speak through our family photos, our journals, our shared remembrances.  It's not everything, but it's a lot.  And I'm awfully grateful for these walls.