And now something completely different

I've never posted anything like this on this blog. I usually try to keep what I write on here pretty relevant to dating and BYU-Idaho, while occasionally blogging about my personal issues and self discovery, but that's not the only thing I enjoy writing.

Here's a piece that's been kicking around in my head for quite some time now, but it was only recently that I was able to write it in a way that felt right. It brings up a lot of emotion for me, since it's non fiction and it's just one of those insignificant things that strikes home. I hope you enjoy it. Eventually I'll get back to blogging about dating and other exciting stuff.

“I’ll replace it” I told her, “I’ll buy you a new one.”

            Glass covered the floor, it was laying on its side. Her eyes were glistening with disappointment. “It was really expensive. You can’t afford it.”

            “I’ll save up! I’m really sorry. I’ll replace it.” My heart sank every time she looked at me, ripping into me with her sad eyes, causing my guilt worsen. I didn’t break the lamp, but my friends did. I’m the one who told them it would be okay to play that game in that room. I’m the one who encouraged the rowdiness, causing them to bump the table. The moment I heard it hit the floor I felt panic rise in my chest. I knew there would be consequences. I knew she would be sad.

            “It was an accident. They said they’d pitch in and buy a new one. We shouldn’t have been playing in there. It’s all my fault.”

            She just stared at the floor, baffled by my idiocy, my immaturity. This is the kind of thing a child does, not a grown girl. I don’t remember the last time I felt that small. I wanted to go back in time and change what happened. Disappointing her was one of the worst things I could do and there I was having done just that. There wasn’t anything I could do except tell her over and over, "I'll replace it. I’m so sorry.”

            A year passed and still the lamp sat on the end table, giant shards of glass missing from its panes, cracks growing in what glass remained. Every moment I spent in the living room was a reminder of the promise I had yet to fulfill. My friends never cashed in, I never had enough extra money. I looked online for the lamp at one point, but when I found it I realized I would never be able to afford it. She had expensive taste.

            Thinking about it now, I can’t help but feel my stomach churn within me, unsettled at the thought of my failure. I should have at least bought something to replace it. Instead it just sat there for months. I could have put it in the garage, but I never moved it. She loved that lamp so much. It had been so exquisite. I can’t decide if it would have killed me more to put it away or to see it there all the time, a broken reminder. Sometimes there isn’t a better thing to do, consequences linger with either choice.

            Now she’s gone and I can’t help but think of that damn lamp and all the things I could have done. It seems silly to dwell on such an object, years after it was broken. With her death I should be remembering our happy moments, our bittersweet goodbye, her dedication to me as a mother. My mother is dead and I’m consumed by a lamp.

            “I’ll replace it” I told her, “I’ll buy you a new one.”