And another one bites the dust ….

I was going to call this one “Cleaning is Stupid”, but it seemed a bit harsh and reactive so I opted for a more spiritual sounding title. 

With found time on Thursday, I set my timer for the first 20 minutes of what is my preferred method to get our house dusted, vacuumed and up to health department standards. 

I wasn’t hurrying.

Russ had set up his first golf game of the season so I had plenty of time. 

But somehow when I was dusting the lamp that was in every house of my mom and dad I can remember and was bequeathed to me upon her death, my duster got caught on one of the metal extenders and in less than a heartbeat it was in pieces on the floor. 

I stood there with my duster in my hand, staring at the chunks of my damage and didn’t shed a tear. 

Even as I got the kitchen garbage can and scooped up the pieces, righted the now shadeless lamp onto its place on the library table my dad refinished, my eyes remained dry. 

The trip out to the garage and the clank of the bag as it landed in the canister still did not open the floodgates. 

I, who shed tears so easily, have found that there are some levels of grief that are so deep they only bring a dry pain. There is just a numb acceptance of a loss that can not be fixed and the tears stay in the place wherever tears hang out until they drip down the face. 

Love is a misused word but the only choice we have in the English language and so I will say that I loved this lamp shade. 

The delicate pine cones and evergreen needles painted around the edge along with the shading of yellowy-green around the edge never lost their charm for me. 

Having the lamp in Russ’s office was a tie to the better parts of my childhood. With many moves through transfers and choice, somehow this lamp managed to survive and was a constant in their decor. I have always tried to find a spot for it in our homes and this last one was perfect in every way.  

And I am baffled why I remain just at the verge of tears and yet I’m okay. 

Maybe it’s because I don’t think anyone past me would even consider it with the appreciation I have carried since I was young. Maybe it’s okay that no one will have to debate over if we keep it or sell it or give it away. 

Maybe it’s just in the grand scheme of things, this is just another thing that didn’t go the way I had hoped and still here we are.

Maybe it’s just that I am finally learning that the object doesn’t hold the memories, I do. 

And now you do, too. 

Now you know that there once was a beautiful brass lamp that held a handprinted glass dome covered in the loveliest painted pine needles and cones. You can picture, as I do, that it sat on the Ethan Allen Early American credenza positioned in the entry way of my parents house until we had to move them out. 

You are apprised of the fact that every Easter my mother took a large, flat basket and filled it with Easter grass and bought all of my father’s favorite Russell Stover candies and arranged them in a pretty pattern. 

We will remember that she sprinkled jelly beans around to fill in the empty places and we knew that we were not to touch the coconut nests as they were his favorite above all. And the basket sat under the light of this sweet lamp on that credenza. 

But today, it is gone. 

And now the tears fall. 

Not in sobs, but just gently. 

I just needed someone to share the loss with me and now I shall return to dusting and the rest of my chores. 

And maybe later, I will venture in the basement to find a replacement shade. For goodness knows, I probably have one that will work.

It won’t be as pretty, but it’s okay. 

I am sure it has a story to share as well. 

Thanks for being a part of the journey. 

You are dearly loved <3