Yesterday morning while I was making breakfast, husband was making our coffees with out new Nespresso machine. He accidentally pressed the start button without having a cup under the spout, so he scrambled to grab a mug from the cupboard. We have lots of mugs. Many, many different mugs. Most of them are either part of our flatware set, or were picked up as souvenirs of because I thought they were “cute.” Very few mugs in my cupboard have any real sentimental value… but there is one.
As husband reached for a mug to put under the coffee machine spout, he accidentally bumped a neighbouring and set off a sort-of domino effect in the mug cupboard. He managed to catch most of the mugs that were falling out of the cupboard, with the utmost grace and language, I might add. But, one mug was not so lucky. Of course, it was the one bug that had any sentimental value to me.
The mug that K gave me before I moved away, which she made for me on a write-able ceramic Starbucks mug, came crashing down on the hard granite countertop and shattered. I watched the mug fall from the cupboard, as if in slow motion, and I didn’t flinch as it sent tiny ceramic shards across my kitchen. Calmly, I walked over to where husband was standing in his flustered and angered state and said, “It’s okay, it was time for that mug to go, anyway.”
Back when collected all the random stuff around my house that reminded me of K, I forgot to pack up this mug. I realized it a few days later when I went to make a cup of tea, but I decided to do nothing with it. I think I’ve only used it once since our falling out – and that was only because all the other “big” mugs were in the dishwasher. I almost opted to have no tea that night – until I told myself that it was only a stupid mug.”
The mug did need to go. There was no reason it needed to collect dust in my cabinet. It did have many wonderful and inspiring messages written on it, but I don’t need a mug from K to remind me of my strength and determination. I wasn’t very sad about my broken mug, even though it is the first thing from K that I have thrown away – everything else is still in a box at the top of my closet.
It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would to watch this mug, once special and meaningful, break apart only to be swept up and disposed of in the trash. I guess it symbolizes exactly what I was to her: something fallen and broken and only worth throwing away.