I still remember the moment we fell in love with this place… the front porch hanging low under the shade trees… the tiny fireplace nestled inside the big living room… the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, dancing on the walls.
We knew this was home, and we knew this is where we would have our children. That’s what we hoped… though neither of us dared breathe those words out loud.
Eight months later we discovered our miracle was on the way. We carried her through that door and I watched as you walked her around the giant living room with the tiny fireplace, telling her this was her home, where she would always be warm… and safe… and wanted.
We paced the wide, wooden floors for months, hushing, quieting, singing. Eventually the pacing gave way to the sound of two tiny feet; first a slow start and then a sprint of thump, thump, thumps…the most beautiful noise we had ever heard.
We will be leaving this place, the place we love, in just a few weeks.
The low front porch where we first carried her, the fireplace where we sat with her, the light-filled kitchen where every new day brought hope that there would be another Miracle.
We grieve as we say goodbye to this place; our little Miracle is unsettled at the boxes piled on every side of the living room.
I hear myself whisper in her ear as I pace, our arms are your home… and here you will always be warm… and safe… and wanted…
And I find comfort.