The coffee mug–my keepsake box

Well, been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ve done a lot. Went to a Supernatural convention, meant to write about that. Started fostering kittens, meant to write about that. These events were always followed by “Hey, I should write about this.” Should is such a terrible word. Yes, it tells you when something needs to be done, but there’s not an absolute deadline with it, so you can just kind of waffle in the realm of “should” for as long as you want. That spits you out into the “should have” zone which dog legs right into “regret” where the toll is your will to do the thing you “should” have done.

But I’m here now. I’m in a place where I am ready to let go of the past to make room for the future. A lot of that letting go is going to be of objects that belonged to family members, or in some cases, to me. Things I’ve been holding on to because I felt they kept certain feelings and memories alive. I’ve often felt that it would be disrespectful of someones memory to let go of things. However, time has passed, and with that I was clubbed in the head with the “but what do YOU want” stick. What I want is not in these items. But these items do hold strong memories for me, good or bad. So I’m going to share them here, creating a kind of keepsake album on the internet. Because the internet is eternal, yes?

My dads coffee mug. I don’t remember exactly when I gave it to him, except I believe I was under the age of 10. I have a vague memory of getting it at some sort of pop up holiday shop where kids could go and shop for things for their parents. I could be mixing it up with something else, though. Where it came from is cloudy. The one thing I do remember about this mug was my dad used it every day until the end of his life. My mom would point to it as a way to that my dad showed his love. “See. He always uses the mug you gave him because he loves his little girl.” Was she right? I don’t know. Was it just that the mug was a convenient size and always there? I kind of think that was more likely. But every time we moved, the mug went with him on the trip. Maybe I’m not giving myself credit, or really giving my dad credit, for the impact I had on his life. It was a rough relationship. I never felt close to him. I never felt like his little girl. I didn’t have the bond with my dad a lot of other girls my age had. But that mug made it through the journey, used and unbroken.

I guess in some ways, I AM the mug.

I’ve been holding on to it as a last “good memory” of my dad. Its been sitting on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, unused and only occasionally glanced at. I think its time for that mug to move on and find a new dad to serve.

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