My youngest daughter, the youngest of six, wrote this yesterday. I wanted to share it with you.
Sweet house, oh…dear, sweet house. You once welcomed a family of seven on Thanksgiving in 2001. A couple months later you welcomed another member of the family. Me. Oh…dear, sweet house, your walls echo with all the voices and the sounds of those eight people. You…oh, sweet house. Your floors of which those people had walked still carry the sounds of their footsteps. Oh, sweet house. You were once filled with warmth, laughter. But now, you stand alone and empty with nothing but the echoing voices of the children and people from years ago. From being once alive and warm, you are now cold. You are a good, sweet house. The memories of laughter and joy still run through you. The memories of a little toddler learning how to walk and to talk. The memories of the children putting on plays for their parents and grandparents. The sounds of the people’s voices still echo through you. I once stood in your beautiful presence and felt the past. The past that was once both joyful and painful. Oh, sweet house. I feel the presence of the children that once were but now are grown. You sweet, gentle house.
It was a lovely home with twenty-six acres of land that resembled a state park. We had many good memories there. And, yes, painful memories too. But we will just focus on the good.
I appreciate my daughter’s thoughts. They are sweet. Just like her. ♥️