A Mug of Memories

I only kind of believe in omens. It's kind of silly. I know that. That's why I only let myself believe in them a little. I don't get carried away or at least I try not to.

I have this mug. It's special. It's a big mug. It can hold a whole lot of coffee and it leaves just enough space for the right amount of cream and sugar. It's really nothing special. It has a moose on it or an elk or something. And it's all chunky...like it was hand-made. It's green and red and brown and big and rough. i guess it's ordinary...or it would be to you. But you'd think that because you don't know the story.

This mug does more than hold my coffee. As cliche as it sounds, it holds memories. This mug was given to me by Pitt...years ago...at Christmas. He didn't know what to get me and he handed it to me in some awkward gesture. We were standing in a parking lot outside a nursing home after visiting his grandmother. I was getting in my car to leave. He stopped me before I got in and handed me this box. It was brown and heavy and covered with a bow. I'm pretty sure his mom wrapped it. I opened it...there...in the parking lot and I saw it as so much more than a mug. I saw it as a way for me to remember him...to think of him every morning when I drank my coffee. And for years I have. Over time, I've found other mugs to use but that mug, the moose mug, stays on the back of the shelf. Sometimes I pull it out. The memories don't flood me like they used to. And I'm glad. They shouldn't anymore.

The other day I broke the cup. I was taking it out of the sink and somehow I hit it just right. The handle broke off and I stood with the mug in two pieces in my hands. I gently sat it on the table and just stared at it for awhile...wondering if this is an omen...one of the few I actually let myself recognize. I wonder if it means something. I wonder if it symbolizes the breaking, the end, of something old. I wonder if I should let the mug go. It could be repaired. I could glue it. But I wonder if I would ever trust the mug again. I wonder if I could ever really hold it by the handle. I wonder if I should. I wonder if I should leave the broken mug alone...walk away...and use a new mug. After all, a mug can't really hold memories...can it?