A vacant church after a funeral?
If you have, you know that you can still feel the essence of people long after they've gone. It's like the raw emotion and energy is somehow still reverberating off of the walls with no where to go.
Welcome to my house, ladies and gentlemen. . .
Because it seems that the quietness of my (semi) empty nest is still not sitting right. It's as if the walls themselves cannot believe that a home which once held such life, laughter, mayhem and madness has been suddenly asked to settle into a state of nothingness.
And if the walls could talk, my friends, they just might ask. . .
What happened to those girls? The ones who used to run and play and squeal and stomp? The ones who learned to toddle, walk and run in these very rooms? Who used to giggle as they sang their ABC's. . . clear the living room of furniture to practice their jigs and reels . . . trip over each other in a mad dash each morning as they ran to catch the school bus? Where are those kids who stayed up through all hours of the night doing homework? What happened to those girls who took half-hour showers and snuck into each others rooms to steal clothing? The very ones who used to come home late and tiptoe past their sentry-of-a-father asleep in the living room? What kind of a house do we live in when a whole day can go by without a constant BUZZ announcing incoming texts?
Give me a second here.
Could it be that I miss them???
Let me take a trip to their car and see what it has to say . . .
