I dash into the next room (on the other side of the wall where I was working), and sure enough, my glass piggy bank I had as a child – which are no longer made in glass – was in a million pieces on the floor. Next to it was the ceramic frame I bought in Copenhagen which housed an old photo of me, my dad, my brother and sister when we were very very young. It was lying face up, unharmed, on a rug.
I tried really hard to keep it together. I told myself that nothing was forever and I couldn’t take the piggy bank with me and I need to practice detachment yada yada blah blah blah…
I was good until I started vacuuming. I kept the dogs out of the room for fear of getting glass shards in their feet and started to pick up the pieces. I was fine with the pieces and then I looked at the frame. Perfectly preserved, not a scratch or nick, with my siblings and my dad’s face staring right at me.
I used to enjoy working on household projects with my dad. He was so patient and knowledgeable, a real handy man. He liked to help me fix things, and when I did it myself, and did it right, he would say “that’s right daughter”. I can still hear his voice in my head when I work alone now saying “use the right tool for the right job”, “get closer to your work”, “put the tools down in one place so you can find them again”. He got to help me with a few things around this house before he died. I’m glad for that.
It’s been almost 20 years I’ve been in this house, and almost 30 that I have lived here in Florida. I guess what I was feeling – and have been for awhile now – is how much I miss him, and miss the rest of my family that live so far away.
I’ve been cleaning and purging and making small repairs as a way to prepare to move, kind of a step out in faith, since I honestly have no set date to move. I just have a feeling, you know? Like intuition is telling me, and now the universe is, with this picture frame. Time to let go of the past, and go to where your heart is calling. And dad will still be there to help me.