A glass shattering crash woke us.
My heart knew what had broken, but I prayed my children weren’t hurt. On the
hard vinyl floor In their bedroom I saw my treasured Gone With the Wind lamp of
Fenton glass destroyed beyond repair.
The children looked okay, no cuts
or blood. Their faces frozen in
disbelieve and fear of what I would say or do. My seven-year-old daughter knew
the importance of that lamp to me. The 14-month-old stood balanced with one
hand on the side of the dresser, his other hand still held the cord that pulled
the lamp down.
As though trapped in a freeze frame
home movie, no one spoke or moved until my husband stepped behind me asked, “Is
everyone ok?” I dropped to my knees, crying as I tried to gather each glass
sliver. With each piece of the distinctive yellow roses design that had graced
the globes, I would sob harder. Rebecca tried to comfort me, hugging me and
saying, “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t cry. It will be okay.”
Baby boy L.J. screwed up his face
and wailed with gigantic drops falling off his chin until his dad stepped in,
scooped him up, and soothed him while taking both kids to the other bedroom.
I couldn’t stop my flood of
emotions or tears. This lamp was my first wedding shower gift. It was the only
object I had left from my first marriage. We were childhood sweethearts, wed
before high school graduation. We had this lamp in our first home; we took it
wherever he was stationed in the Army. When I moved back to my parents’ home,
it was my light as I waited when he went to Viet Nam and he never came home to
see his new born daughter.
Consumed with memories, I didn’t
realize that my new husband of three years was back in the room until he made one long sweep of a broom readying all the glass shards for the
trash can.
“No, no. Don’t do that. They’re
mine. That’s all I have left!” I yelled and cupped my arms and hands around the
lamp remains as I huddled over them with my entire body.
Byron took my hands away and pulled
me up into his arms. He held me close and kept repeating until his words broke
through, “Brenda, it’s gone. The lamp is gone. You can’t put it back together
again. I’m sorry. L.J.’s sorry. He didn’t mean to do it. We’ll get you another
one, I promise. Just like this one.”
“ You can’t get me another one just like this one. It’s gone.
Ronnie’s gone. I can’t get him back. He’s never coming back,” I moaned at him.
“I know. And I can’t bring him back
either. No body can. But you’ve got Rebecca, and you will never forget Ronnie.
Now you have L.J. and me who love you, and you will have another lamp to remind
you of all of us.”
"it was my light as I waited when he went to Viet Nam and he never came home to see his new born daughter."
ReplyDeleteWow Brenda, this is truly heart breaking, and wielded with such imagery. Wonderful post.
Thanks for the comment.
ReplyDelete