Her Bedroom Wall

If walls could talk, I would have shared in your parents' joy and excitement as they prepared your nursery. They spent hours just sitting on the floor of the empty room daydreaming about the possibilities. A beige carpet was laid down and I was painted lavender. The anticipation was great fun, but it was nothing compared to the joy of seeing your family together for the first time. I'm just a wall, but I shared in the feeling of responsibility that came over the house as it was cleaned, child-proofed and decorated for your arrival. I listened and I learned every one of your mother's lullabies. If walls could talk, I would have sang you a lullaby of my own about how I would protect you from the elements, from noise, from harm, and how happy I was with my duty.

If walls could talk, I would have so many hours and hours of stories to tell your parents about what you got up to in your bedroom. I didn't see your first steps, but I alone saw the first time you climbed down from your crib by yourself. You babbled, and eventually talked, to yourself endlessly when you thought no one could hear. As your room was gradually filled with toys and books, I got to know all the characters by name as you ran around on your pretend adventures. I remember sometimes you noticed a spider in my corner by the ceiling. The spider had died but never fallen down. You would stare at it transfixed, wondering if it would move or if it was really there at all.

I watched you grow, and I watched your little outfits come and go with the seasons and sizes. Frilly, feminine baby dresses went out of style in favor of decidedly more comfortable shirts and shorts. You didn't mind being "cute", but you preferred being "cool". You liked "cool" stuff like monsters and superheroes. A little table stood in the room for a while until you outgrew it and asked for a desk. You didn't spend nearly as much time at that desk as you intended, but when you did, you were working on something important. You wrote stories and songs. You drew careful lines. You tried so many things and you loved almost all of them, whether it was for a week or for years. I was struck by how creative and how smart you became.

If walls could talk, I would have tried to comfort you on the days you came home from school tired or sad or just overstimulated. You'd lay on your bed and stare at me, letting your mind take you far away to somewhere softer. Maybe my voice would have only added to the noise. Maybe my silence was something you loved best. It was hard on me to see you upset but to have no idea what caused it. I could have guessed a thousand times and never been right once. I have never been a child. For all the wonderful, happy things I saw in you, there were complexities no one would ever understand. Still, if walls could talk, I would have tried.

As you grew older, I saw sides of you that no one else could. I saw you the ways you like to be when no one is looking. Sometimes you laid on the floor because that just felt right. Once, you jumped onto the bed in just the wrong way and kneed yourself in the eye. You were surprised, but you thought it was so funny you got right up and did it again. You cried at the end of almost every book, whether it was a sad story or not. You would listen to one song on repeat for hours at a time.

If walls could talk, maybe I could have told someone when I saw the signs that something was wrong. Maybe when it mattered most, I could have convinced you to stay.

I would have said something, anything, so your mother wouldn't be alone when she found you. I would have helped make the difficult phone calls your parents could barely make. I would have greeted the mourners as they arrived to give your parents just a few more minutes to prepare themselves. I would have loved to share the stories that only I knew with the small crowd of people who loved you. I loved you, too.

They couldn't stay in this house. I wouldn't have tried to keep them, even if I could. I wish I could at least have wished them well and thanked them for letting me into their lives and teaching me more about what it means to be alive. Not all walls get to experience this. Maybe they wouldn't want to. It's heavy holding up a house, and to watch, but never speak.

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If you are thinking about harming yourself or concerned about a loved one call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or dial 988, text the Crisis Text Line (text HOME to 741741) or connect with a counselor at suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/. Each of these services are free, confidential and available 24 hours a day, seven days a week.