SHATTERED

  
    Our home was a symphony of chaos, a joyful whirlwind of laughter, spilled drinks, dropped food crumbs, and my younger brother, Eddie’s, incessant mischievous antics. Despite the chaos, a sense of love, warmth, and contentment permeated every inch of our home.  At the center of this happy mess, nestled on top of my grandmother’s buffet, stood a testament to my parents’ marriage—a magnificent lead crystal vase, a wedding gift to


Mother from her dear friend, Robbie Hilliard. Its delicate curves and intricate designs caught the light streaming through our living room window and scattered tiny rainbows across the walls.

As a young girl, the vase mesmerized me with its ability to capture the sunlight and transform it into a kaleidoscopic display of colors. I often sneaked into the living room just to admire it from afar, dreaming of the day when I would have something equally beautiful to call my own. Mother treasured the vase, and I remember watching her carefully dust and polish it, her large, but gentle hands caressing the vase’s smooth surface. Mother often told me stories of how her friend had gifted her the vase on her wedding day; how the vase, filled with white roses, adorned the centerpiece of the reception table.  She described the sparkle of the crystal reflecting the laughter and joy of the guests. I closed my eyes trying to imagine the wedding scene and the warmth of the celebration emanating from the vase itself.

My brothers were a rowdy pair, frequently rough housing in the living room, often dangerously close to Granny’s buffet and Mother’s lead crystal vase.

“Stop your rough housing!” Mother exclaimed, snapping her dish towel at them while sending them a disapproving look—actions that usually deterred their rowdiness.

One day, in the midst of a particularly rowdy game, my younger brother grabbed my doll from my arms.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” he shouted and took off running. Despite my better judgment, I accepted his dare and ran after him. As we rounded the corner, my stray elbow ran into the corner of the buffet knocking over the vase. It crashed to the ground, shattering it and my heart into a million pieces.

I stopped dead in my tracks, horrified and speechless. I still remember the look of disappointment and stoic devastation on Mother's face as she held back tears,

silently picking up the shattered pieces of her treasured vase and dumping them into the trash.

“Go to your room and think about what you’ve done,” were her calm but edgy words.          “I’m sorry, Mama,” I said, bowing my head and following my brother to our bedroom where I laid across my bed and wept, eventually falling asleep. 

I awoke to the sound of dishes rattling in the kitchen and the smell of Mother making dinnertime preparations.  I eased my way into the kitchen and tugged on her apron. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll never run through the house again. Promise.”

“I know you’re sorry, Sweetie,” she replied continuing to stir together the ingredients for meatloaf.

“Do you still love me, Mama?” I asked, huge tears welling up in my eyes.

“Oh, darlin’, of course I do.” She stopped what she was doing and knelt on one knee next to me. “I may not like what you did, but I will ALWAYS love you. You understand the difference?”

“Yes, Mama,” I think so, I replied staring into her loving doe-like eyes. In that moment, I felt deeply reassured and secure within the arms of Mother’s unconditional love—a love that knew no limits despite the countless mistakes and poor choices I made growing up.  To this day, I am grateful for Mother’s gracious nature and how she used my mistakes to lovingly teach me so many valuable life lessons.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A SCATHINGLY BRILLIANT IDEA

Image
        I’ve thought a lot about the old movie, The Trouble With Angels , a 1966 comedy set at St. Francis, a fictional all-girls Catholic boarding school.   The movie boasted of an all-female   cast that included Rosaline Russell playing the role of Mother Superior who’s constantly at odds with Mary Clancy (Hayley Mills) and Rachel Devery (June Harding). Even the director, Ida Lapino, was female—a rare feat for women in the mid-1960s. The episodic story line followed the two disgruntled teenagers through their sophomore, junior, and senior high-school years.   Mary was the rebellious, prankish instigator who always said to Rachel, “I’ve got the most scathingly brilliant idea!”    Throughout the movie, they pulled pranks on the sisters, repeatedly getting into trouble and turning the convent school upside down.   Mary also resented Mother Superior’s authority and often puzzled over why any woman would choose the life of a nun.   Over time, the sister’s examples of ded
Read more

I'M GOING TO GRANNY'S HOUSE!

Image
North Texas summers are hot and dry and generally quite humid. And in the summer of 1961, the scorching sunlight and intense heat ignited one of the worst droughts on record. The sidewalks sizzled and roasted my bare feet, and the heat permeated the already parched ground in front of our home leaving huge cracks and crevices. The grassy lawns—yellow and burnt—smelled like bales of hay that had been sitting in the summer fields too long. We couldn’t afford air conditioning; and even though the air outside was motionless, Mother opened the windows wide every morning.   As each day progressed the oppressive heat thickened, singing the air in our tiny two-bedroom home making it feel stagnant and suffocating. So I often spent my summer days sitting by the open windows reading a book and—despite the still air—smelling the sweet aroma of Mother’s honeysuckle vines.   Occasionally, I escaped outdoors riding my bike up and down the neighborhood streets pedaling at white heat s
Read more

ADVENTURE DOWN A COUNTRY ROAD

Image
I was all too familiar with the dark, soupy cocktail of my predawn commute with its precipitous, endless sea of headlights that seemed like lighthouses—beacons of hope illuminating a safe path for me during my morning commute.   I was hopelessly lost, however, on a ritualistic, tempestuous sea never questioning either the distance or the destination.   But one January morning, traffic congestion forced me to exit the well-lit freeway.   By happenstance, I ventured down a poorly-lit, meandering country road.   At each turn I marveled as my headlights reached out in the darkness making the snowflakes look like stars moving faster than the speed of light.   I slowed my car and embraced the subtle privacy of driving through the countryside with its longer, quieter stretches of road where I savored belonging to myself.   At one turn I glanced east just as a subdued sun cast its gentle light upon the snowflakes swirling around my car.   I pulled over, stopped my car, and rolled down
Read more