Let me tell you a true story......
Let's go way back to when I was a teenager. Many. Many. Many years ago. Motley Crue is singing about Dr. Feel Good. I'm perched at the dining room table watching my Mom work on a ceramic piece. We were kind of nerdy and we painted ceramics back in the day. I actually loved to do that with her! She was good! She likes to claim that she isn't crafty at all but she was a genius with a paint brush and ceramics. I loved to watch her paint.
She painted these Indian heads. Spent a lot of time on them. You can tell by looking at them. I loved them. And when she talked about getting rid of them I almost choked on my Mt. Dew! How could she possibly get rid of them when she spent so much time on them? Sure, they didn't exactly fit into her decor anymore but come on! They are beautiful! So, I took them! And they traveled with me whenever I moved and that was a lot for a while. My husband back then was a military man. Each time we moved, I treated them like an ancient artifact, knowing that if they ever got broken, they would never be replaced. They were special to me. And even though they didn't match my motif, I held on to them and displayed them in my room, on a shelf high above the kids reach. Every time I saw them I thought about my Mom, shining, doing something she was marvelous at! It made me feel good.
Fast forward a few years to 2007. At this point in my life I'm in the midst of a total break down. I'm much older. Motley Crue is probably planning a reunion tour by now for crying out loud. My husband and I are getting a divorce and I am a walking zombie, moving around the house we rescued together trying to decide what I can take with me when I go. Wherever that might be. I pack up all of the things that I absolutely cannot live without! My Moms Indian heads are the first thing to be packed...... That was one of the hardest times of my life. Walking around that house looking at all of those memories was heart wrenching. I couldn't focus. Then one day my friend told me that the only thing in that house that I really needed to worry about were my boys.....and my best bra! The rest was replaceable! And while I had my mini break down, she came over and helped me pack.
But, as helpful as she was at the hardest time of my life, She was wrong! Remember, those Indian heads!! The ones that were not replaceable in my eyes. Of course in the heat of the moment you don't think about those things. You just sit there in a daze! Not knowing where to start or if starting is really even worth it! It broke my heart. Anyway.......The Indian heads got left behind in the mess. The box got put in the wrong place I guess. And in the chaos I just forgot and my friend didn't know any better. Bless her heart for helping!
Well, The years have gone by. The ex moved into our house and it has been years since I've even thought about the things I left behind. He keeps saying I need to come over and go through the things in the basement. But I can't step foot in that house. I break out in hives sitting in the driveway. I just can't do it. But, recently I had to stop by the house to get some of my sons things that he left from the week with his dad. I knocked on the door, knowing that the girlfriend was there, wondering why it was taking her so long to get to the door. Our dog, is at the door barking and I want to open the door and scoop him up for some quick kisses before she gets there. But, I don't. It's not my house anymore and I don't think he even knows who I am. Then I see her coming toward the door. She's holding something in her hand that I can't make out through the screen door. Then it hits me.
I think my heart stopped for about a second. Tears immediately filled my eyes and that day, the day I packed them in the box, every time that we moved, all of the memories and heart ache, all of the pride for my Moms hidden talent, the memories of her swift hand holding a paint brush......it all came back to me. I snatched those Indian heads out of her hands so fast and said "Oh! My GOD! Thank you! Thank You! Sooo much!". And suddenly she wasn't the person that played a part in the demise of a family. She was a person who cares deeply for my boys. A person who keeps in touch with the boys when their dad can't. She was a person returning something very special to me. Who knows why. Maybe she thinks they are hideous and wants them out of her house. It is her house now. I don't need to be in it anymore. So, the Indians are with me now. Back home where they belong, on a shelf, high above little hands or bouncing balls. I'm holding on to these indian heads. But, I'm letting go of the hate and the bad memories. Only good from now on!
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