It Was Only A Table

Yes, you read that right.

It was "only a table" yet I was having 

a full on melt-down over it.

Why in God's name?

Let me explain.

When my beloved Dad passed away last

year I was responsible for clearing out my family/childhood

home. No problem I thought. There was so much clutter

it would be a breeze. 

As I am quite ruthless anyway when it comes

to clutter, I thought I would detach myself

from what each thing symbolised and just get on

with the clearing.

So the big clear-out started.

Finally after 9 months, there was

one more object to get rid of; the elephant in

the room that I wouldn't let anyone touch.

Our gorgeous wooden dining table.

I kept avoiding this piece and every time

my Husband broached the subject I moved

swiftly onto something else.

I just couldn't face getting rid of "the table".

Then one day the Heart Foundation were 

due to come and pick up this gorgeous table and

I just went into melt-down.

Honest to God the "ugly cry" was in full swing.

After much sobbing and sniffling, I

was able to explain to The Mr why?

You see that table had "heard" so many family conversations;

it felt like there was so much emotion and  history

stored in the very fabric of the table. It really was the 

"meeting place" for my family.

We sat at the table, as a family every single evening to have dinner.

The TV was switched off and we chatted over dinner every

single evening.

As we got older and started to lead our own lives, the one

non-negotiable was Sunday lunch.

Friends, boyfriends, waifs and strays were all invited.

But it was ALWAYS at our table.

So that table was "witness" (can you say that about an inanimate

object?) to discussions about everything, including some

of the most pivotal moments in my life:

*it's where we discussed how the day went or didn't go

*it's where I sat to do my school homework whilst under

my Mum's watchful eye

*it's where every Christmas happened

*it's where we discussed the merits of which

University to attend

*it's where I would sit and chat to my Mum about

the new boy who had stolen my heart 

* it's where a few histrionics were played 

out when "said boy" didn't even notice I existed.

*it's at the table where I introduced my Mum and

Dad to my really "serious"boyfriend who later went on 

to become my Husband

*it's the table where my Mum sat me down to tell

me she had cancer, but it would all be alright in the end …..

it never was

*it's the table where I sat for hours and hours asking my

younger self "why us" when my Mum finally passed away

*it's the table where I sat and listened to my Dad recalling

his and my Mum's love story (it really was the most

gorgeous love story which I had not appreciated).

*it's the table I sat at with my Dad as I told him I was

getting married, and watched his face light up 

*it's the table my Dad, I and my future Husband would

spread all the property details over when we went through 

which houses my Husband and I should be viewing

*it's the table I sat at when I broke the news to my Dad

that I was moving overseas

*it's the table I sat at when I came back 12 years later to

look after my Dad

*it's the table we sat at every lunch or dinner  time. The thought of my

Dad eating his meals alone would haunt me forever

*it's the table where everything seemed to come full circle

except this time it was my Husband and I having dinner with

Dad every evening telling him how the day had gone

*it's the table where I took the dreaded phone call

asking me to get to the hospital as soon as possible

*it's the table where I celebrated both my Mum and

Dad's life as we "broke bread" with close friends and family

This was my table.

This was my history.

This was the table was where some of the happiest

and saddest moments took place.

It was the table where some of the biggest 

most important decisions of my life were made.

It was the table where my tears of both happiness

and sadness had soaked into the wood.

This was MY table.

I couldn't possibly let someone

else take the keeper of my history.

"But it's just a table" my Husband kept saying.

No, it wasn't. 

This was more than just a table.

It felt like an old friend who listened to

everything, was there for support and

never interrupted one conversation.

Needless to say I still have the table.

It's all in storage carefully wrapped to preserve the 

gorgeous wood. 

I don't care that I may never be able to use the table

(it is huge) or ever want to use it.

But for now the wood of the table is seeped

in the history of my small family,

and I don't feel it should be anywhere else but with me.

I know it is only a table, but………….

Would love to hear you thoughts

xxxxxx