I see the telltale evidence of a past life in my house. It leads me to wonder what joys and sorrows, what victories and defeats, what highs and lows have preceeded me in this place. Some markings of this life are apparent in every room. The indentations from bureaus, chairs, beds, and cabinets have left their signatures in the carpeting. A few traces, more deeply hidden, are seen in a child's colorful drawing under the overhang of the countertop, the homemade Christmas reindeer ornament found under some loose insulation in the attic, and the box of cabinet parts tucked away in a drawer labeled "Daddy" in a child's hand.
While this place is now mine, that is to say my responsibility for a time, I still hear the echos of a past life echoing from the walls. I sense the family holidays and gatherings, the wonderful parties that took place out by the pool, the special times of growing up, and the pains of goodbyes and separations. I suspect that it will be very much the same for whoever takes over for me when I move on. My living here, I hope and pray, will only add to the depth and richness of the symphony.