The Family Reunion

If walls could talk, I would finally travel back to my grandmother’s home. The home that I haven’t seen since 1995, but even from hundreds of miles away I wouldn’t get lost on the drive through the Midwest.

2028 N 22nd St…

Milwaukee, Wisconsin…

The now boarded up house where I once had happiness, joy, and innocence…

I would walk passed the SOLD sign, now decorating the poorly manicured lawn, and step inside to notice all the ways the walls have changed. I would see family pictures now missing once you enter the front room and the paint that's badly chipped on almost every corner. The new scars and blemishes that have their own stories to be told, and the blatant yearning for attention that has been gone for 20 years. But, what wouldn’t surprise me is how after all these years of neglect, you'd still be standing strong.

Staring at how you've aged would make me realize we're the same. How I’ve grown and transformed so much too. How I’ve got some new scars and blemishes that have their own stories to tell, and how I have been missing the love I remember I had from this house.

I would hope this growth would bring us back together.

And that these walls would still remember me.

Me. The kid with big ears, a big smile, and big dreams. The little naive boy who would spend all day asking his grandmother everything he could about life. It's me. The one who was cuddled up with his grandmother on her small and lumpy couch that was probably five times my age. The one who laughed watching all the 90s shows on an old and dusty TV and always said, “Yes Mama” when she needed something from me. The kid who banged on the keys of the big brown piano that sat in the dining room, and would sit and press his back against the wall daydreaming and staring at the neighborhood out the window. Yes, that's right, it's me. How could you ever forget? We were family.

Something I didn’t realize when I was young.

If walls could talk, I’d wish we talked more when I was that little kid. And, I’d hope the walls would talk to me now as a grown man. And tell me how they’ve been. We would bring back the memories lost as the years have grown distant, and heighten the ones that are too fuzzy to see clearly because it’s been such a long time.

And, we'd talk about grandmother...

The last time I was in my grandmother's house, it was the same day that we lost her forever. Our grandmother. The woman who protected us, cleaned us, fixed us, and showed us, love. The woman who made sure we were warm in the winter and felt the breeze during summer. The woman who spent her last moments on the couch she hated to leave, and when she was taken away, our touch went with her.

We mourned in silence. And apart. We didn’t ever truly get to share a word about how we felt. I left and never came back. While you couldn’t escape. No one left to protect you, clean you, fix you, and show you, love. The family pictures were removed, and the home became just a house.

But, if walls could talk, I would hope we’d finally get to have closure.

Then, have a new beginning.

I would take down the SOLD sign, now decorating the poorly manicured lawn, and vow to stay with you. I would sit on a lumpy couch like I did when I was five, and laugh while watching re-runs of the 90s shows on an old dusty TV. I'd reminisce on how I always said, “Yes Mama” when grandmother needed something from me and I'd bang on the keys of our big brown piano that would sit in the dining room. Then, sit with my back pressed against the wall daydreaming and staring at the neighborhood out the window.

I would come back for you.

Because these walls are part of the family.

I didn’t realize that when I was young.

But, I would be happy to share that with you.

If walls could talk...