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
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
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