The Fixtures of Our Lives

“A house with old furniture has no need of ghosts, in order to be haunted.”― Hope Mirrlees

Last month, I held a sale to rid myself of things that at times- over the years- I wanted to set ablaze and watch the memories burn along with the items. However, it was in my moments of clarity… that not all dire recollections were coupled with the things, I had to get rid of.

In gathering my stuff and pricing it, I allowed myself to soak in the reminiscing of what was ingrained in my personal belongings. The first thing to go was a breakfast tray that once held moments of love, placements of laughter and was used by others that hold no bind to me, any longer. 

Next, I wanted to sell something that stirred up a great deal of emotion. Since moving to the Island, I could not bring myself to sit at my own dining table. Rather, I would stockpile it with an array of literature, scrapbooking material and leaflets for places; I am bound to travel to. There is something about the solitude that creeps into the mind when one is sitting alone at a table for four. It’s as if a chess game would unfold before me and each piece of the player would get knocked from the board, leaving only a queen surrounded by an empty throne. 

As I wiped the chairs one last time before the sale, I let the memories imparted in the fixtures, settle in the compartments of my mind. The table had served me well, over the years. I gave permission to recall the dinners held upon it- the Thanksgiving where friends had joined us in merriment, the years of Christmas’s that graced the plates of food connected to treasured recipes. My mind wandered to the cards that had been placed on the table, with wit and verses written inside of Hallmark sentiments. I lingered on the presents swathed with gift-wrap, vibrant streamers and funky bows. My emotions were brought to the surface as I summoned up thoughts of how at the table, I had planned the whirlwind Disneyworld adventures that Shayla and I would embark on. A poignant moment came when I was reminded of when I had prepared a surprise birthday celebration for my former boyfriend- how I had worked hard to earn the money for our two tickets to Hawaii. Over time, the table had placed on it, an array of rocks- Rose Quartz, Labradorite, Jasper and Agate, plus many more unique pieces added to the separate collections of Paul, myself and Shayla. There were the times when our scrapbooks were lovingly made on the surface of it, with an assortment of photographs chosen for the endless pages, we created together. 

Suddenly the wallop of feelings proved to be too much and the yin- yang part of my mind, imploded with the darker side of also what the table, had thrust upon it.

On December 12, 2011, it was my clenched fists that were smashed on top of the table when Shayla died. Since that day, my body had been heaved upon it, as a river of tears was poured onto the warm tan surface. My sobs- echoing back at me- that I would not hold my daughter in my arms again, here on earth. The table spins me round, as I feel the pools gather in my weeping eyes… I acknowledge this selection of furniture, once held Shayla’s Coroner Report, her Death Certificate and Autopsy. Papers burned into the memory of a bereaved mother-praying for the floor to open- and let me fall straight through. 

This fixture of my life had a flip side to it. It is where I decided to end my six year relationship, amidst betrayal, heartache and sorrow. There had come a day when I grew tired of comparing my scars to his and in packing my things, I realized I had left ‘emotionally’ a lot earlier. Later, it would be the surface of the table we would sign paperwork and embrace through tears, one last time. The table saw us exchange the hurts and losses, while a flurry of apologies came across it, from his lips of remorse. One year passed, when I came back for my belongings, he had stored for me. I returned to face the man who I gave more than my heart to. My soul once entrusted with Paul that was crushed, would fill with the forgiveness I would grant him and who still remains in my prayers. 

Finally, as I departed from him-with my broken wings in tow-the table made its way out of the cage, I once felt bound in. 

More tears would fall upon the table, most recently with the presence of two people who sat around it. Although in human form, they appeared as shadows to me- an outsider always looking in- these strangers could not grasp the precious gift of words they had held in their hands…one last time. 

As I ran the cloth over the table top, I knew in this moment to finally let go of all that was attached to it. 

After it was sold, I took awhile before I purchased another one. I found myself in the Habitat for Humanity ReStore, where I reside.  Habitat for Humanity is an international, non-governmental, and non-profit organization, which was founded in 1976. Habitat has been devoted to building "simple, decent, and affordable" housing, a self-described "Christian housing ministry," and has addressed the issues of poverty housing all over the world. The mission statement of Habitat for Humanity is "Seeking to put God’s love into action, Habitat for Humanity brings people together to build homes, communities and hope."

This is one of the reasons I was drawn into the Habitat for Humanity ReStore in my community. It felt right to make a purchase where it helps others in need. I was looking around, when I spotted the ‘perfect table’ for me. It was a high desk that I envisioned for my photography Notecards I create and the scrapbooks I have been making; put together with my love. It is also a place where I can sit at and enjoy a meal- being as it isn’t a traditional table-there is only one seat, which is reserved for me. It has slide out shelves, two spacious cubby holes and mostly… it does not have anything connected to my past, in a painful way. I did ponder to think how maybe just like me, someone decided to part with their times of yore and move onto something new.

I was reminded of how our lives are a constant surge of change…like pebbles gathered on grains of sand… the vagabond remnants of my rugged heart, shifts in many directions.

I may have parted with fixtures of my life, yet with pensiveness incited by love and loss, my endurance comes within the folds of my faith. 

By TL Alton