photo #8476659

This runs deep! They painted over the crayon marks last week, and with them, they erased the proof that I was once needed. I didn’t stop them. Didn’t say a word. Just stood in the hallway, watching a brush erase what I spent a lifetime building. A blue squiggle from Jenny, who used to think the wall was her canvas. A shaky “DAD” from Bobby, written with a broken red crayon and a proud, crooked smile. Those walls once echoed with Nerf darts, midnight giggles, and someone always yelling, “Don’t run in the house!” Now it’s just me and the hum of the refrigerator. I used to hate the noise. Now I chase it. Turn on the TV, the fan, the radio, anything to make the silence feel less permanent. And I remember the chaos, the sticky floors, the toys that made walking a battlefield. I remember rushing bedtime stories, half-listening to jokes I’d give anything to hear again. Back then, I thought I’d always be the guy who fixed the bikes, who packed the lunches, who held little hands across the parking lot. I didn’t know you don’t get a goodbye to your usefulness. It just fades, like the crayon on the wall. Now, I sit on the porch with two mugs of coffee, though one’s always cold. Old habits, I guess. I still make enough for two. If you’re in the middle of the noise, the mess, the long days with short tempers, don’t wish them away. Because one day you’ll walk into a quiet house, see a blank wall, and realize you’d give anything for one more scribble you weren’t supposed to love. (Author unknown)