Broken Teacups and Grandmother"s Love //
When my Grandmother was alive, she was someone I thought was the best kind of person.  She made me giggle as a child when she would chatter her dentures together and never shied away from taking them out and showing me how she cleaned them and how they stayed in her mouth.  I was fascinated.I was also fascinated by the fact that she had sooo many grandchildren and yet I always felt special.  I always felt like our time together was justours.  I would help her pick plumbs to make fruit leather and watch her make cakes.  She never told me she didn’t have time to make me another blanket when the one Ihad was starting to go to ruins.  I still have mybuhbye and mynighnight.  I still have the last blanket she ever made me.  But most amazingly, she had a collection of teacups.  They were the most delicate, beautiful things I had ever seen in my short life.  I wanted to touch them, but somehow knew that I was not supposed to, even though she never told me I couldn’t.I asked about them once.  There were just enough that she could give them to the grandkids if she wanted (our family was big, but not as big as it is now).  She gave me one.  The one I always wanted the one with the delicately painted red roses.  She didn’t hesitate to say that someday, that one with the red roses could be mine.

When my husband and I moved into our house it broke.  My heart stopped.  I looked at the delicate rose that was now split in two.  I looked at the saucer that was cracked and felt like it was my own heart that had broken.  My grandmother is held in that cup, and it felt like I had broken her too.  She’s been gone since I was a child.  She died during a risky surgery when I was in junior high.  She had been so sick and she would have died without the surgery, but she wanted to risk the surgery, knowing she might die during it.  I miss her dearly, and that cup was my way of remembering the precious life she showed me, and the special moments I had had.  She had an AMAZING way of making each grandkid feel special even when she had so many.

This teacup is still broken.  I have tried and tried to fix it.  Super glue, glass glue, nothing works.  I don’t know why I can’t fix the saucer.  I don’t know why it won’t come together.

I have asked the husband multiple times to help me fix it.  I have told him what I have tried and that I don’t know why it won’t stay put together.  He still has not tried to help me fix it.  He doesn’t see the importance of this teacup.  He doesn’t understand why something like a teacup is worth saving.  He doesn’t understand the fragile  balance of love and memory held in the bottom of the cup with the roses painted on it.  He doesn’t understand that, without the saucer, the cup is just a cup.  He doesn’t understand that I need help restoring the cup, so that I may mend my broke heart with it.  He doesn’t understand how so much love can be held in something so small, nor how broken you can feel when that love is slowly leaking out.

He doesn’t understand the importance of broken teacups… or broken hearts.