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I will miss this place.
This house would be filled with laughter from the nine children I brought to this world. There would be some spilled milk on the table, baby Michael would be busy playing pirates with John on the sofa, and the rest of the kids would be off to school.
Now I'm staring at the unused piano where my late spouse used to play. During the Yuletide season, we would gather around Dad and sing our favorite Christmas song.
I tried to touch our wooden door. We used to measure our children's heights beside it as they grew.
Every afternoon, we gather in the sunroom to watch the sunset. It's now just a room for dusty picture frames of beautiful memories lost to time.
I put on my best dress, the one I wore on my first date with Francisco, the love of my life. On my head is my favorite sunflower hat that Denver, my eldest son, brought me from Paris.
I took one last look at our humble house from outside the door.
I bowed my head, grateful for the fleeting moments we enjoyed in this place we called home.
When I turned around, I suddenly found myself on the hill.
I saw my family—all clothed in black—under a Narra tree.
"To the world's best grandparents." I smiled as I read what they had put on my husband's and my tombstone.
In spirit, I kissed them all goodbye.
My life was far from ideal. It's also full of tears and broken hearts.
But I'm glad I didn't give up. I'm glad I persevered.
Looking at my children and grandchildren, I realize that I did live a beautiful life.
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