Letting Go

A casualty of renovation
Meet my mug. The first casualty of our bathroom renovation. This is the mug I drink my tea out of every morning, my mid morning coffee out of every day, and the odd hot chocolate. It gets washed with care every morning and put away in the mug drawer. The mug drawer is full of mugs, but this one was mine.

I don't even think it's a pretty mug. If I were choosing a mug for myself, I would never have chosen this one. It was a little too big, and unnecessarily gaudy. But it was the last birthday present I got from my parents while my Dad was still alive, complete with matching apron (which I do love), and my mum informed me that my Dad had chosen it, just for me. It even came with a matching two tone pink citronella candle. I know.
It was sitting on the cup drying rack in the kitchen when my father in law was cutting floorboards in the adjoining bathroom when I heard a smash. We searched the bathroom high and low for what must have broken and could find nothing. A few minutes later we were in the kitchen when I saw my mug lying broken on the floor. Pregnancy hormones and flu-infestation took hold and I started bawling. Poor Mr S Snr, when he asked me what was wrong, I didn't even think to lie, I told him. And the look on his face was one of such shame for having broken my mug and made his hormonal pregnant daughter in law cry. I'm so sorry to have made him feel that way.

I know it's just a mug. I do.
It's not even very pretty.
It's the last thing my Dad gave me and in some way made me feel closer to him because he saw something and made my mother buy it for me. *

It made me think about how we hang on to physical stuff because of the memories attached. I'll never forget my Dad (hello in the mirror there, I see you Dad!) but I was so sad to see my mug gone.
It's now in a bowl in the kitchen in pieces whilst I keep forgetting to buy superglue to stick it back together and put it on a shelf. Now I need a new favourite cup. Oh, the possibilities!

Do you hang on to physical stuff for memory?

*I do have my doubts that Dad chose it, but I choose to believe it. I think what perhaps happened was they were in a shop and Mum told him they had to choose a birthday present for me, and he chose this.