September 29, 2011

X Marks the Spot

X marks the spot where the For Sale sign stands on the lawn.

X marks the spot where we painted the dining room bright green. Then repainted a much better green.

X marks the spot where we put up wainscoting in the nursery, even though we were still calling it the "spare room."

X marks the spot where we carried you through the front door, followed by your sister two years later.

X marks the spots where you nursed on the couch, napped in the swing, bounced in the jumperoo.

X marks the spots where you formed your first smile, ate your first foods, took your first steps.

X marks the corner in your room where you bury yourself in your books.

X marks the spot where you played with the incrediblock for 45 minutes straight.

X marks the spot where I cried tears of joy at your first words, then of sadness when those words no longer came.

X marks the spot where you spent the 800 hours of therapy that we all hated and still aren't sure did any good.

X marks the spot on the lawn where you ran and splashed in the water, squealing with pure joy.

X marks the spots of so much laughter and tears, heartache and wonder, questions and hope.

X marks the spot where you crashed into the wall, resulting in stitches, but where you still run flying by.

X marks the moments of your life, held close in these walls.

And now, X marks an empty spot, waiting for us to sign our names.

But do not worry. I have a bag full of X's to bring with us.



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