Picking up the Broken Pieces

Isn’t it extraordinary how emotional we become when an object that we treasure  meets it’s doom?  Many,  if not all of the trinkets that I own, have, or at some point, will end up in a receptacle.   Of course it is never intentional, but this, it seems, is the fate of all things Melissa!   Whether it be a car, a favorite mug, a revered piece of family memorabilia or a gift from a close friend, it is destined to be marred, broken, lost, shattered, torn or hit by a runaway mailbox. (This is not a joke!)

You would think that after many, many, many years of seeing so many valuables given to ruination, that I would have toughened up and been able to hold back the tears that now cling to my eyelashes, as I try to blink them back.

What is it that binds us so tightly to these soulless, innate objects?  What drives us to scurry around, frantically hunting in the desks of our coworkers for a magical substance to bind the wounds of a shattered thingimajig, while wondering, “Why don’t I own stock in Super Glue®?”  Is it crazy or even accurate to say that I LOVED my Pam bobble head?  Can we truly love inanimate objects to the degree that we actually mourn them?

In reality, it is our affection for our lover, friend or family member who gave us the item or to whom it originally belonged, that causes such an intense reaction.

I recall an instance, after my Nana’s funeral, we were sorting through all of her things and I came across a Russian fur hat.  It was a ridiculous looking thing and really was of no use in the invariably mild California weather, however, I had fond memories of my Nana wearing the hat and attempting to mimic what she thought was a Russian dance.  I didn’t LOVE that hat, I loved my Nana and missed her.  Each grandchild was given a bag and told we could put into it anything that was important to us and I had no doubt that this huge furry monstrosity was coming home with me.  Now, I was never going to wear that hat, at least not in public, but for some reason when I got home and saw that it was not at the bottom of my bag where I had placed it,  I cried… really hard.  No, I bawled.  I put lambs to shame with the bleating that came out of me.  It wasn’t the furry, beast of a hat that I was crying for, I was crying for my Nana.

I guess what I am saying is that, I will always be heartbroken when something dear is gone or damaged.  My first new car, the Taz mug my sister gave me, my Nana’s Russian hat, a Chinese bookmark from a friend, my first Bible or even a Pam bobble head.  But I believe it is okay to lament these things, because attached to them are dear and valuable people who love me.  And you know what?  I still have my memories, so who really needs the Super Glue® after all?

Melissa Reyes