Sometimes things break.
Small hearts break at the loss of a furry friend.
Records are broken bringing joy to one and sorrow to the other.
Emotions break when life is stressful.
We break when we are tired and need to revive.
Promises are broken more often than we care to think about.
We break in a new pair of shoes.
Dawn breaks again and again, thank goodness, so we always have a chance to fix what we broke or was broken the day before.
Today, I was standing in front of my office door. I balanced the ever present stack of ungraded papers on my left arm, my mug perched, as often it is, on top of the stack, a lunch sack with my favorite lunch which John had just dropped off in my left hand along with a bag full of throat lozenges because Wednesday’s scratchy throat is turning into much worse. My right hand was struggling to find my office door key. It is the key without any markings residing among the others with room numbers and building codes, my old office key I have forgotten to return, two jump drives, a keychain from my alma mater and one from this school. The mug began to slide. My hands were full. There was no way to stop it. It fell from the stack of papers in slow motion as my thoughts whirred wildly hoping the carpet would be enough to absorb the shock. Tea flew. The mug is hand painted made especially for me by one of my eleven year olds. Both girls had visited the pottery studio just before Mother’s Day last year and painted the most wonderfully beautiful mugs for me. LibbyLu’s mug hangs out with me on main campus and Cubsey’s hangs out with me downtown, at the theatre. Now, I have one hand painted mug as the carpet was not enough. How do I tell her that sometimes things break? That I was so careless with something so great?