Sometimes walls separate things. Sometimes walls create a barrier, but our wall was different. In front of the house where I grew up sits a brick retaining wall. My parents are in the process of selling this home. Tonight they called to check in, and when I asked what they were doing, my dad said that he and Mom were sitting on “the wall.” I made a joke asking him if they were being nostalgic about all of the time we have all spent on that wall. Our wall knows every secret, tear, fear, and hope that our family of four experienced over an almost twenty year span. Thinking about the loss of that wall puts a little empty spot in my heart.
How can a few bricks with a view of train tracks and an alfalfa field hold such an important place in someone’s history? As I get older (nearing thirty, so not really old), I cannot help but think about how important our adolescent and teenage years are. We learn so much about ourselves during that time. Because of the lack of maturity and reason, I believe most of us have a hard time imagining life beyond those years. So, sometimes, even as an adult, I find myself still stuck at age 15 or 18. Those were times of uncertainty, yet complete certainty. I was confident yet scared out of my mind about the unknown. But the constant in all of it was the wall. Whenever life got the best of any of us, we ended up on the wall crying, meditating, or swearing.
It intrigues me to think about my own children in this sense. What will be their “wall”? Where will they go when life gets the best of them? Will we be able to share the same things together as I was able to share with my sister and parents? I truly hope so.
Thinking about the little things and thanking God for it all tonight,
The Displaced City Girl