Lunchroom Tears

I used my very own personal key fob this evening, the only key fob I've ever possessed, and let myself and my girl quiet into the silent school building we'll be calling home in ten days.  We walked the halls and I whispered prayers for the kids and their families.  I smiled to see the brightly colored wall decorations in the hallways of the elementary kids section and thought how wide eyed fun I'd feel if I were one of them.

We found our way to the lunchroom, shiny floor gleaming reflections that made it look like water, and I sat silent on a bench as my girl walked to the windows to look out.  It'd been a fair amount of years since I'd pulled my food out of a lunch box and now my girl would get to do the same, laughing so hard over shared jokes that milk threatens to come out her nose.

In my mind, I was suddenly back there, a young girl again, hearing the sounds, remembering the feelings, and the tears began to fall.  I cried to recall the tenderness of heart, that time of life ,and that it's far behind me now.  I cried with gratitude that leaves me open handed, marveling at the favor we've been given  now and no way to ever pay it back.  This lunch room will feel like home soon and memories will be engraved on my girls' mind here.

We get up to leave and I turn back wistful to look over my shoulder.  "Thank you, Father.  Thank you," I whisper and my girl reaches out and takes hold of my arm.  She knows my tears are happy for her.  She can't possibly know how deep they go.