photo #7928900

There will come a day so quiet, so still, when no small feet run through the halls, no laughter echoes off the walls, no whispered Mama, stay a little longer from the doorway in the dark. One day, the last crayon masterpiece will be drawn, the last block tower built, the last lullaby sung to a sleepy head too heavy in our arms. And we won’t know it was the last, not then, not yet, until time has carried it too far to reach. We will beg to go back. To the nights when exhaustion pressed hard but tiny arms held harder. To the mornings of tangled hair and milk-stained pajamas climbing into our lap. To the messes, the chaos, the endless questions, the weight of it all that once felt so heavy but was, in truth, the light of our days. One day, our hands will be empty, our hearts stretched wide with longing for the life that once filled every corner. And if we could - just once, we would trade every quiet morning ahead for one more sleepless night rocking them back to sleep.