I threw something away I want back – a green-colored, droopy-eyed, dog-shaped piggy bank my grandma gave me. I had noticed that the slot for coins had a cracked triangle in the back.
As I was sorting through the boxes of my childhood things – my mother had said you need to get this stuff out of the attic – I figured it was a useless thing with that hole.
But I’ve held onto my memory of it, even stopped at antique shops, looking for its replacement. It’s like I’ve become stuck on this one thing I can’t have, a regression into an almost guilt.
I got rid of something from my late grandma that represents animals, which, at one time, I considered to be my best friends. Their soft ears could listen without button eyes judging or sewed-on mouths laughing and throwing out taunts.
I was a tidy, neat little girl who kept her coins in the doggy piggy bank, saving for toys my mom or dad wouldn’t buy or candy I eyed or gifts for birthdays and Christmas.
As an adult, I don’t know why I keep thinking about something I chose to drop into the bin. It’s like I, too, got a hole somewhere, a broken piece that I can’t let go.
I can’t just hold on, my fingers straining white, keeping it when it’s like a note in the air – a sound that lifts, drops and then folds away, leaving an impression of something beautiful that had been there and now is gone.
Tags: Lost things, Piggy banks
I have been through a grieving process over downsizing and getting rid of furniture several times.
I joke about it, but believe there's a real fear of losing the memories associated with objects that have
surrounded you or been part of your life (in most cases for a long time).
I get attached to things, too. I have always wondered what it would be like to lose everything in a fire or a disaster. I guess with my dog Zoey, she trumps all objects. 🙂
Well said, Helen. It's true! I enjoyed your blog entry, Shelley.