![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgem65p1wB-Tr5hjzdTExVlkxlHVJbcc6Nmh1_FyboK9c-DLk2g4GDN5brt9Ol4Yxmkiim9MOiuHLFl5M19sqmH4L3LvuJp6n8urawYzM1lUPmimMFrBd2M_etXQ4IABJERGswOGtxO-i/s200/dust-in-the-wind1.jpg)
Walls covered in a child's love expressed through colorful artwork now slightly faded with time, snow-flake cut-outs and banners taped to the cabinets, expressive cards and hand-made crafts cover the shelves. They were made just for me. They express a child's love and creative output just for her daddy. Each item unique, each contains a bundle of memories, each one very special and important and meaningful to me. However, they only contain their value through my eyes. What happens to this childhood of love when I am gone? The answer is obvious, someone will come through and brashly reclaim the spaces that I once used to occupy. I can hear the grumbling remarks about "look at all this junk". It will all follow me into the ground. I knew my time was finite, but I also held onto the words on the bottom of one of the drawings she gave me, Daddy, I love you forever!!! It seems like dust in the wind.