Brooke is on her way to Guatemala. She is working with City's Mom Blog to help stop poverty. She wrote her recent thoughts on the plane this morning and sent this to me. Tears seeped out of my heart, into my eyes and ran down my face as I read her words. So poignant, so true that I wanted to share her thoughts with you.
These walls would welcome not one, but two precious babies into the world. They heard the happy coos and midnight mews of newborn babies, giggles, patters of footsteps as those babies turned toddlers. They heard excited visits of grandparents, and family members in and out, friendships formed, and lives started new.
And then they heard worry as sickness returned and uncertainty once again took hold. One night, these walls heard the midnight phone call, the gasp of breath, the understanding that a precious life had ended as quickly as the lives it had seen begin. These walls saw transition as our young family moved out, and you got ready to move in.
These walls. For you, they were different than they were for us. You might now be questioning why this move was ever made, why only two and half short years in a home that never really felt like a home. But I know and I see so clearly. These walls were so very necessary.
A big project was a necessity. It was a step that needed to be made to fill the void of this huge loss. These walls were a place to rip down, start fresh, create new. They needed to support the spinning energy of a long-time care taker who suddenly found herself without a spouse, without a husband, without a best friend. They became a place to dive into, an all-consuming step of taking your mind off of loss.
They were a reason to simplify, a cause to purge, to scale down years and collections of a life together into the parts that were most memorable. Cleaning out those closets, that attic, that space was good for the soul. It your way of processing 20+ years of happiness, of purging the sickness that had crept in and the hard memories that had started to form like unwelcome calluses. That purge cleared the cobwebs of those last years where cancer had take over, and let you remember all of the good, so much good.
These walls. They are walls that could hold the grief that you brought along, perhaps even heavier than the furniture that came with you. You settled into this new home, finding a place for each memorable piece but I watched as your grief moved in right beside you, taking up residence in this home. These walls heard aching once again. They saw your pain as you mourned. You mourned for the loss man you loved and the life you had. They saw you run away and they understood your need to run because these walls felt empty, hollow, lonesome, quiet.
But they saw hope spring where you couldn’t yet see it at all. They saw you learning how to live life as one, when for so long you had known life as two. These walls watched you become strong, become not someone new, but someone with a better understanding of how to look back on a life that was so good and smile. Someone stronger They saw you start to take joy again in your surroundings. They became filled with the barks of a senior citizen dog, and once again welcomed the laughter and patters of feet of your grandchildren. These walls saw you delight in their little personalities taking shape. These walls watched as you thought, “Oh, if he could see them now!” They watched you become self-sufficient where you had so doubted yourself and your ability just two short years earlier. They watched as you learned to be content in life as it is now. And they watched as you came to understand your need to move on, but this time taking the furniture but leaving the grief behind.
So no, these walls weren’t unnecessary. They were part of the process, part of the plan, part of the transition into the person you are today. They’ve been good walls, strong walls. They’ve seen us all through big change of the past six years, and now it’s time for them to welcome in someone new and lend their strength yet again.
Love you Mom and excited for this new step in your life and to have you so close. How sweet and special for these babies to have their Honey so near.
Psalm 30:5 "Weeping my last through the night, but joy comes in the morning."