One afternoon a few weeks before my mum died she told me I’d probably find things hidden in her house when I started to clean it out. I smiled to myself when she said that, because she was famous for squirreling things away and not being able to find them later. She told me there was one thing she had bought for me and that when I found it, I’d know right off that it was for me. “Enjoy it,” she whispered, squeezing my hand.
As promised, I came across something underneath the loveseat in her living room wrapped in tissue paper and a bath towel shortly after her death. When I opened it up I remembered our conversation and knew I’d found what she had been talking about: a large, hand-painted Mexican plate. Thick, made of clay and very heavy, the face boasted a brightly painted Mexican village, the detail so keen and beautiful that I sat with it on my lap, my heart in my throat, and stared at it for several minutes, tears dripping into my lap.
It was one of the last things I packed before we moved here because I wanted to enjoy it for as long as I could. When I took it down I thought to myself that I ought to take a picture of it, whenever we decide to shell out for a new digital camera, and blog about it. This is too cool of a plate not to share, I thought. I wrapped it up and put it in a box with two stained glass lampshades, a box that I knew wouldn’t go on the truck but in one of our cars, where it would be safer.
The Sunday after we moved, Dave and I had lost our patience with one another. Okay, not really. Truth is, I had lost patience with him, with unpacking, with the kids being off the wall…with everything. I was tired and sore and bitchy and Aunt Blood was on her way over. I was being a big fat bitch and Dave was doing whatever he could to stay out of my way.
I was upstairs changing Oliver’s diaper when he appeared in the doorway, a serious look on his face.
“Something is broken,” he said.
“Great!” I said sarcastically. “Awesome. What is it?”
He sighed. “The Mexican plate,” he said quietly.
I felt like someone was squeezing my lungs really really hard. I put my head down and let the sobs bubble up from my chest. Dave came over and wrapped his arms around me and Oliver stood up on his fire engine bed and hugged my legs. “Oh, Mummy,” he whispered into my knees.
I cried. For a long time. I cried for my mom and for the plate and because I was mad at myself for being careless, for not making sure it was packed more carefully. I cried because I have so many things that remind me of my mom but this plate, this one thing that was so special to me got smashed and I really had no one but myself to blame.
Dave says he’ll fix it. It’s broken in three pieces, he says, clean breaks, and that once it gets glued it’ll be as good as new. But I told him not to bother. I don’t want to look at it and see the cracks, see that it’s been repaired. It won’t be the same that way.
I want to remember it the way it was, bright and beautiful.
78 Comments, Comment or Ping
I’m really sorry about the gift from your mom. It’s horrible to see something that is a memory to you be physically broken. I recently bought a necklace from http://www.ibreakplates.com … she takes pieces of broken plates and makes necklaces out of them. You can even send your own plate to her and she’ll make a necklace out of it. Just a thought … that way you could keep the plate with you around your neck.
May 31st, 2007
That choked me right up! I wanna hug you too (and get you a new Mexican plate even though it would be from a stalker blogger instead of your mom).
I’m sorry. That’s one of the worst feelings too.
*hugs* (and a drink)
May 31st, 2007
Did I get stuck in the spam again?
I had a comment. A nice one too.
That’s such a horrible feeling. You almost made me cry… I wanna buy you a new Mexican plate (even though it would be from a stalker blogger and not your mom).
*hugs* (and a drink)
May 31st, 2007
Oh, I am sitting at my desk and crying for you, too. I also just moved into a new house (Saturday) and even though I packed everything so very carefully, my heart is in my mouth every time I open a box marked “fragile” because, well, you just never know.
I can understand why you don’t want it fixed, but you know, you may change your mind. Everything in this life had cracks in it – even our love for our families, sometimes, when we’re frustrated and tired and at the end of our rope. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still beautiful, and full of life. This may come across sounding like a bad Hallmark card, but I’m hoping you know what I’m getting at.
May 31st, 2007
Oh honey. I’m SO sorry. Maybe that is for the best, just like the memories of your mother. Bright and beautiful.
May 31st, 2007
I cried when I read this. FUCK. I think I understand this pain in my own way. I know that you will remember it bright and beautiful but can I be an annoying ass-ive person and say – let Dave repair it so the next generation can enjoy it and hear this story (you can come slap me in person babe – I hope I didn’t cross the line).
May 31st, 2007
I agree with Hannah. Mend it. Set it aside. Even if it is painful for you to see that way, I think it will be meaningul for your children someday, cracks and all.
May 31st, 2007
oh man, I’m sorry…you know here’s a thought…from a song in fact…how about framing it in it’s broken state? (this is from David Wilcox – Leave it Like It Is)
Now when the paint jar tipped
Off of the table
You watched as it started to fall
Glass popped, shattered and splattered
And paint spray hit the wall
Bright, blue glossy enamel
Across the kitchen floor
You said, “Good God, look at that pattern
I’ve never seen that before”
Chorus
Leave it like it is
Never mind the turpentine
Leave it like it is
Its fine
Now when the paint dried
You gave it a title
You called it “Kitchen Blue”
A white frame painted around it
And gallery lighting too
Rich folks come over to dinner
They all want one of their own
They say “How much? Who’s the artist”
And, “My what a beautiful home”
Now most folks suffer in sorrow
Thinking they’re just no good
They don’t match the magazine model
As close as they think they should
They live just like the “paint by numbers”
The teacher would be impressed
A life-time of follow the lines
So it’s just like all of the rest
May 31st, 2007
I’m so sorry. I know that your heart is broken, and that there’s really nothing to do about it.
But I like Sarah’s idea too. But at least hold on to the pieces, because you may decide later that you do want to mend it.
May 31st, 2007
NO. You need to glue it back and tuck it away somewhere safe. And then when you are ready, you will put it back up on the wall to display and cherish. The break has now become part of its history and will eventually become part of its charm.
May 31st, 2007
awww Kath, i’m sooo very sorry for you, my heart breaks. I agree with the others, let Dave fix it, even if you can’t look at it with the cracks for now. I love the idea of the first commenter though about getting it made into a necklace….
May 31st, 2007
Let him fix it. They’re war wounds. Scars that will tell the story of how it got from there to here, lasted through the trials and tribulations of moving. I have a lladro statue, a little girl holding a dove. It was given to me to mark my transformation into adulthood. It was discontinued shortly after I was given it. The arm holding the bird shattered in the move. I was so hurt, I just wanted to pitch it. But I didn’t, and I’m glad. I’ve started to get used to her that way. Nothing goes through life and comes out unscathed. It’s part of life Katherine. Don’t throw your Mother’s gift away.
May 31st, 2007
I’m so sorry sweetie.
May 31st, 2007
(((((Katherine)))))
It is hard now but I would have it fixed because it is a legacy for Julia and Oliver and even though it got broken, it is still a special part of your relationship with your mother. I know it is silly but those cracks are also part of your history – marking the move to your new house.
HUGE HUGE HUGS x
May 31st, 2007
This klutz will tell you that crazy glue works wonders.
May 31st, 2007
*hug* Save the pieces. Just in case. Someday you might be able to love it again, beautiful, but a little cracked. Like most of us.
May 31st, 2007
Totally out on a limb, here, but … you have often written about your mom and your relationship being imperfect, though also amazingly strong and special. I’d go with the glue. Yes, you will see the cracks. But it’s no less a gift from your mom than the perfect version.
May 31st, 2007
I’m so sorry.
Do what feels right, but give it some time. It means too much to rush a choice to have it done.
There’s $.02 from across the internet.
May 31st, 2007
My husband’s mother died of breast cancer when he was nine years old. He has very few memories of her… except mainly that she had been sick for most of his life. His happier memories include the fact that she was an extremely strong, artistic, creative woman. One of the things that she loved to do most was to work in her pottery studio. One of the only things my husband has that was made by his mum is an enormous lamp base, painstakingly made of coils, and then smoothed to a beautiful texture on the outside.
Shortly after we were married, we acquired a kitten, and this kitten was particularly WILD… One terrible day while my husband was at work, the kitten climbed our drapes, and in her frantic attempt to get DOWN, she smashed the pottery lamp.
I was DESOLATE. I had NO idea how I was going to tell my husband, and no idea what I could do to make it up to him.
What I did FIRST (after locking the kitten in another room) was call the Vancouver Art Gallery. They put me through to an art restoration specialist, who, after hearing my story, agreed to meet me at his studio and try and put the lamp back together. One of the most important things he asked me to do was to bring in not only the broken pieces, but also any residual dust that I could sweep up from the piece.
I then called my husband, who was understandably upset, but he agreed to accompany me to the studio that evening.
Mama T, this art restoration specialist saved the lamp– it looks almost perfect, and because he brilliantly mixed the dust that I took to him in a little tupperware container into the special glue he used, you can hardly see the cracks. We were AMAZED.
My husband and I now look at that lamp and think of his mother… and also about how important it was for us to have it put it back together again. Now our three little girls can enjoy the lamp, too, even if they will never know their grandmother.
I’m not trying to tell you that you absolutely SHOULD try and mend the plate your mother gave you… but just know that with time, the terrible feelings you are having right now will soften a little bit. And if you decide to find someone to mend the plate, I hope that you’ll be able to look at it again and smile.
Lots of love and hugs– H.B.
May 31st, 2007
Oh, damn. I’m sorry.
May 31st, 2007
Let Dave fix it. It will make you smile, if not now, then sometime.
May 31st, 2007
I am so sorry. I love Sarah’s idea of what you could do with some of the pieces. It won’t be the same as having it intact the way your mom gave it to you, but you’d still have it with you, just in a different form.
May 31st, 2007
Oh, man. I’m sorry. It’s funny (not funny haha) how something like that can happen and just blindside you with grief. I broke a bowl that had been my grandmother’s – a stupid, blue, melamine bowl – and I cried and cried. .
But I agree – let Dave fix it. Some day, you’ll probably want to see it again.
May 31st, 2007
I’m sorry for the loss. I too agree that repairing it is the best option. It may not be perfect, but it is still the plate your mother gave you – that didn’t change when it became three pieces.
A strange thought just occurred to me as I typed that above. Maybe the splitting in three is some sort of blessing: now you and Dave can have 1 piece, and each of your children can have one. Each of you sharing part of a bigger whole.
May 31st, 2007
Please fix it. Save it and put it away for awhile. Or keep all the pieces safe and repair them when you’re ready. I just have the feeling that you’ll want them one day.
{{hugs}}
May 31st, 2007
shitty.
i’m so sorry.
May 31st, 2007
oh honey. ouch.
you know, you could make it into a mosaic. pieces of her incorporated into pieces of you. all blending in perfect brokenness together.
May 31st, 2007
((((HUGS))))
I’m sorry Kath. :-(
May 31st, 2007
Oh damn, I’m so sorry about the plate. I hope you consider having it repaired either by Dave or someone else. In time you will be able to appreciate the beauty in it again. {{{Hugs}}}
May 31st, 2007
Oh. Oh. Oh! I wish I could just give you the biggest hug right now.
And I’ve had those feelings about things of my mother’s that were lost or broken in the past. I know just what you mean. What a beautiful metaphor.
May 31st, 2007
I’m so sorry!! But I’m with the folks who think you should take some time before you decide not to have it fixed… hugs!
June 1st, 2007
It’s not often that I’m reduced to tears. I’m so sad that it got broken.
Those broken plate necklaces and cuff links are stunning. To think you could make some heirlooms out of your special gift would be awesome.
June 1st, 2007
I am allowing myself one blog before I ran out of the house for the day, and I came here. And I cried.
I’m sorry Tulip. So sorry.
I do not want in any way to invalidate your decision…..but you know I have great idea for the broken pices to be made into something else for your family. Something you could all do togeher as a family….I’m just putting it out there…..
I’ll write you later. Many hugs.
June 1st, 2007
please let him fix it.
June 1st, 2007
My eyes are extremely damp… I’m sorry. Truly. That just fucking sucks.
Can you just put the plate aside for a while. You may think twice about gluing it together later. Maybe it was meant to crack. Maybe it’s a metaphor for us as we age and learn and grow and how we move on after tragedy and have the scars to prove it.
Maybe it’s more beautiful now…
And maybe I’m just a stupid piece of shit.
June 1st, 2007
Big Hug.
Let him fix it. I think it will make both of you feel a little better. Hopefully!
June 1st, 2007
Oh Tulip! A couple of years ago one of Len’s students broke a little 50s juice glass that was my grandma’s then mom’s. I tried to contain my despair but I guess I didn’t hide it perfectly. This same student swung by the next day with dollar store brandy glass to make up for it. I was ready to forgive her mistake until that moment. I understand the iron in your soul right now.
BTW, my mom squirelled things away too.
June 1st, 2007
No Mama…Let him fix it. You may not want it now, but you’ll see, once it’s fixed…you’ll find joy in it again…
Hugs.
June 1st, 2007
I am sorry, the necklace out of your plate idea I think is so great. Keep it, even if it just a piece around your neck.
June 1st, 2007
I am so very sorry…
But where You would want to remember it as beautiful which your mother was… the fabric of the cracks and piecing it back together with love, and with those cracks I think you could see the love in them… and your plate can be even more beautiful as your family,your family gingerly helps to piece your heart back together… as your heart will always be broken… as your mother is gone… but maybe, just maybe the plate can be a symbol of the beauty which is you that remains…as you do remain…please reconsider your decision about the plate…
June 1st, 2007
You just made me cry too.
I’m so sorry it got broken. I understand how much it meant to you, what it meant to you.
xo, OTJ
June 1st, 2007
Oh, I am so sorry that happened. It probably even makes it harder because you had taken special care to make sure it wasn’t in one of the moving trucks. Try to keep your chin up and just remember all of the wonderful memories with your mom.
Jill
June 1st, 2007
I am really so sorry to read this.
I know you are sad and I’m sure frustrated but I really hope you don’t make a final decision just yet…you might want to have it repaired still…you might. The plate has memories and it breaking in this move is also a memory.
It sucks…and isn’t it often the way things go?
Oh, I don’t want to just dwell on the sad aspect of this story…I need to comment on how beautiful it is that your Mom told you about this gift and that you knew when you found it that this was the special item she wanted you to find…what a special moment. You are so lucky that you got that moment.
June 1st, 2007
one more thing…..I am willing to bet that your children will want that plate one day, broken or repaired…I know I would.
June 1st, 2007
I am crying for you. At work no less.
Your mom wanted you to enjoy it. I know it is sad that it broke and that it means so much to you. But enjoy it like your mom wanted you to. Buy some superglue and fix it please. All I can see in my head is a beautiful plate, that you can barely tell was broken once, displayed proudly and loved.
I had my grandmother’s spoon rest and it broke in the dishwasher. What was I thinking?! But I still move that broken spoon rest with me to each new kitchen. Tonight I am going home and gluing it back together and I hope you do to.
June 1st, 2007
I just read all of the comments to this post and there are so many good ideas. I really like the idea of your family all having a piece.
June 1st, 2007
Oh, honey. I’m crying now, too. And I want to hug you, too. (Of course I’m at work, so my timing is off, here…)
Give it a few weeks, you may feel different about the repair. I’m so sorry about that.
June 1st, 2007
Life is all about the cracks, about being broken and or flawed and being loved anyway. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday….Fix the plate!
June 1st, 2007
Oh honey. You done made me cry. I’m so sorry…for everything.
June 1st, 2007
we are moving too right now as I pack I keep thinking of you. this story kills…..i have had so many meaningful things lost in moves too, but nothing as meaningful.
do what you need to do, trust your gut. im so sorry mama…..
lots of love and light to you
June 2nd, 2007
That’s so sad. I’m very sorry. It’s hard to have something that meant so much to you get broken.
June 2nd, 2007
I feel you. *silent hug*
June 2nd, 2007
Let him fix it. Please. I think you will be glad you still have it.
Geez, this post made me cry.
June 2nd, 2007
I hope you do (or did) keep it. At least for a while to see if the repair can be satisfactory.
That is an amazing bond with your mother that she knew you would just know when you found the plate. I wish I had that with my mother and I hope to have it with my girls.
The plate sounds beautiful.
June 2nd, 2007
Oh sweetie….I’m in tears…….
Those moments where you feel you have no one but yourself to blame for something are the worst of all. They hit you the hardest and make you the most upset at yourself. I’m sorry….. :(
June 2nd, 2007
I know this is not really about the plate, but about love and grieving and trying to feel whole.
Save the pieces. When your emotions are less tangled, you’ll know what to do with them.
June 3rd, 2007
oh mamatulip. i am so sorry. i know that feeling, of fury with yourself and irrevocable loss, even though you know it’s just a thing…it’s a thing that acted as a connection for you.
just want to add my voice to the chorus of assvice (lovingly given) on the “let Dave fix it” theme…because i have a vase much like your plate. except it was my grandmother’s. given to her by her mother, back when god was young, i think. it’s ancient and huge and chunky and kind of garishly beautiful…a fascinating piece. and it’s broken and repaired in about four places, because my grandmother kept it on a table at the bottom of the stairs, and her cat knocked it all to hell one day. my mum remembers this day…my grandmother was heartsick. because it came from HER mother. it had been a wedding gift of her mother’s. but it was glued back together, and when she died it was handed down to me. and i have few things i value more, despite the cracks. to me, it doesn’t say my grandmother didn’t take care of her mother’s gift…to me it says i am one in a line of women.
so even if the cracks hurt you, let Dave fix it. give it to your daughter someday, as something of her grandmother’s.
:)
June 3rd, 2007
Oh, I know how you feel. My grandpa died 19 years ago and the only thing I have from him was a Christmas ornament with his handwritting on it. I took it out every year and cried with missing him. It broke last year, and I just have these broken pieces sitting on my desk and it makes me cry. My grandma is gone, too, and now there is no chance of having anything from them. But I can’t bring myself to throw those pieces away.
June 3rd, 2007
I’m so sorry, everything she touched holds a piece of her spirit. It must be so hard to see something so special go from whole to broken.
June 3rd, 2007
Falling into the ‘let Dave fix it’ camp.
June 3rd, 2007
Another great story! I hope you glued it. :)
June 3rd, 2007
Gosh, that is so sad.
Thank you for sharing such a touching moment in your life.
June 4th, 2007
My heart hurts for you! I want to fly out there right now and give you a hug too! I am so sorry!
June 4th, 2007
((((enormous hugs))))
I’m so, so sorry.
Would it help at all to look at the plate and think of your mom, and look at the repaired cracks and think of your good husband fixing it, and your sweet little boy trying to comfort you?
I know it’s a bad comparison–I’m trying to look at the laparoscopy scar on my formerly-attractive navel and think of my children, and the procedure I went through so that I could have them. Sometimes, the things we love have to change, and we have to love them in a different way.
Ok, I’ll shut up now. I hope I didn’t make anything worse.
June 4th, 2007
Oh honey…I’m so so sorry. I love Sarah’s idea about using the pieces for a necklace. Or what about using them to surround a small mirror? I bet you could find a way to recycle the pieces and create something new and beautiful. Maybe your kids could help you with the project, too. I made stepping stones two years ago for my mom and mother-in-law for Mother’s Day and it was a predone kit with just regular ole bits of glass and pottery. But you could do something cool with your plate.
I know…it’s not the same.
Hugs.
June 4th, 2007
please let him fix it, Mama T. In years to come, those fractures will be telling you stories too. Of moving and memories and Oliver hugging your legs.
seriously–piece it together. Nothing’s really whole, right? (except our beautiful children).
June 4th, 2007
:-(
im so sorry!!! i can imagine how that must have felt. how it feels.
maybe once you can grieve for a few days over it…you might be more willing to let dave put it back together…??
June 4th, 2007
Hey, I was just thinking of you, sending you my best and hoping that you’re okay… just wanted you to know.
June 4th, 2007
This entry made me cry for you and your mom too. My heart hurts for you.
June 4th, 2007
Sorry about the plate! It’s just the physical plate, though, right? The memory’s not broken — you put it together right here in this lovely post for all of us to share. Beautiful. Sorry, though…. I hope you’re feeling better now.
June 4th, 2007
I’m so sorry.
Let Dave fix it. Put it away. Give it time.
June 5th, 2007
((((HUG)))) Katherine….
I am so sorry. I can’t really add anything that hasn’t already been said. I really like the plate necklace idea that Sarah suggested, or the restoration idea.
If you aren’t ready to decide just yet, put the pieces someplace safe until you are ready to make a decision about them.
June 5th, 2007
Come back! I miss you!
June 5th, 2007
Oh, I’m so sorry about the plate. Why does it always seem that the one thing that gets broken or lost in a move, out of all the other junk that you don’t care about is something special.
I’m glad you’re able to fix it.
June 5th, 2007
Oh sweetie.
I am so sorry.
((((((((((())))))))))
June 7th, 2007
My own tears are falling for you.
June 8th, 2007
Oh, that is so hard. Why do the most important things always have to break? I guess it’s like hearts… so fragile and painful when they do break.
((hugs))
June 8th, 2007
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