If my kitchen table could talk

Many years ago, while living in Amarillo, Marc and I bought a dining table. We didn't have to worry much about anything happening to it. We rarely ate on it. We moved to Lubbock and began to have babies and it was the only place in the house to eat. I kept it covered in plastic at all times. When we moved to Collierville, TN in 1988, we had a house with both a dining room and an eating area in the kitchen. I went to Sam's and bought a kitchen table, a leaf, and 6 chairs. If my kitchen table could talk, what stories would it tell. I think it would have many tales to tell. The first thing it would say was plastic was quickly replaced with paper tablecloths for birthday parties and newspaper for coloring easter eggs. Through the years there were many of both of those activities. There were many meals, many prayers and much laughter. It became the place for homework and science fair projects, art projects, and history projects. One Sunday evening, back in the days when the grocery store was the only thing open on Sunday, Ryan announced he had a project due the next morning and it had to be a replica on a European land mark. I remember clearly that Marc was not home. I loaded those kids in the car and off we went to Kroger. I bought a quart of milk, some paint, construction paper etc. School supplies are very limited in the grocery store. Several hours later, after the milk had been dumped into a pitcher, we had a pretty good Big Ben. The teacher wrote she really appreciated the thought and time that went into that project. Little did she know. There is still bronze colored paint on the kitchen table from that little project. I am sure there are many other tales of last minute projects. Of breakfasts hurriedly eaten so as not to be late for school.

Many family members and friends have sat around that table sharing meals, sharing secrets, sharing memories over a cup of coffee or a coke. Many of the world's problems have been solved at that table. Our friends brought food in and placed on that table when we lost Ryan. They sat there and held our hands and wiped our tears and prayed with us. They tried to insist we eat. Letters have been composed there. Menus created there. Wedding invitation lists, Christmas card lists, most of my lists of lists have been written there. Each of the kids sat there to write their thank you notes after graduation and yes, I sat there trying to write thank you notes for each kindness shown during the loss of our precious son and the table had to bear my endless tears fall as they fell upon its surface.

Many celebrations happened on that table. From birthday parties, to graduation parties to good grades and everything in between. The red plate has been placed numerous times at each person's seat.

Recently, another little person has got to sit there and eat. The table could tell of stupid grandparents thinking everything she said and did was the absolute cutest thing in the world. I am sure the table did not mind having spills on it again. I didn't mind, surely the table didn't.
I am sure the kitchen table could go on and on and perhaps share one story about each person that sat there. That table is ringed and dented and scarred and faded. Each ring and dent and scar is a precious story.

As we left that table in Searcy, that table that has so many stories to tell, if it was able to tell, there might have been one tear in my eye. I did feel like I was saying good bye to an old friend,, the kind of friend that shares the good, the bad and the ugly with you.

I hope many more memories are made on that kitchen table and if it could talk, it will be talking for many years to come.