If these walls can talk, a poem

If These Walls Could Talk…

If these walls could talk…

They would tell you that the energy in this house changed when you walked through the door. It became more vibrant, more alive.

They would tell you about the stories around the table, the countless times you inhaled Dad’s breakfast sandwiches, and the gallons of orange juice you drank. How you and Dad always seemed to eat like you were racing to see who could finish first. But that was just how you ate.

They would tell you about the extra-large couch we bought with the sole intention of making more room for you, for our family, and for the dogs, so we could all fit comfortably.

They would tell you about the laughter. The deep, full-belly laughs. Your goofy laugh that they heard so many times as we sat together.

They would tell you about the countless FaceTime calls and phone conversations they overheard. Conversations about the future, football and religion. About your day and our day, our past and the lessons we had learned. Everything from sports and movies to the ridiculous drama of reality TV.

They would tell you how we anticipated every one of your visits. How much we cherished simply having you here, whether you were sitting with us downstairs or just napping upstairs.

They would tell you about that silly way you blew your nose, something I never imagined I would miss so terribly.

They would tell you how Buddy couldn’t stand not touching you, always wanting to lay beside you because you were his favorite. His boy Ryan was home again.

They would tell you how much love was shared inside this small house. How it was filled with memories, laughter, tears, nonsense, and moments that became forever unforgettable. Moments we would give anything to have back.

And now… it would tell you…

How we sit on that couch, just the five of us, and there is an empty seat where you should be.

It would tell you that the food in our fridge expires because we struggle to make meals now. It’s hard to find the energy to cook, especially when making your favorite breakfast sandwich means making one less sandwich than we used to.

It would tell you that there are small moments when we find ourselves laughing at a silly Facebook video of puppies or a panda bear. But then the house is quiet again, and we hear more crying than we ever did before.

It would tell you how different the energy is now. How the house is filled with a sadness that seems to live in every room. How we are constantly waiting for you to walk through the door while knowing full well that you never will.

It would tell you how Buddy smells your things and stares at the doors, still waiting for his Ryan. His brother.

It would tell you how every time the phone rings, for just a moment, our hearts think it might be you. Your nighttime call telling us about your day, what your next adventure is, or what you and your friends are doing that night.

And then we remember.

It would tell you that our hearts have broken. That we feel lost without you. That we are learning how to live in a house that still holds every trace of you, while knowing you will never walk through that door again.

It would tell you that we miss you in ways we never knew were possible.

And that this still feels like a nightmare we haven’t figured out how to wake from.