What should I let go of?

Today I Used the Cup

Today I took a coffee cup out of my cupboard and used it. That doesn't sound particularly brave. People use coffee cups every day.

But I received this one in May of 2024, just a few days after Jacque died. Her girls, Taylor and Andi, gave Jolene and me each a bag. In true Jacque fashion, she had planned ahead. Before she died, she had already bought our Mother's Day gifts. That's who she was.

One side of my cup says:

"You are an amazing Mom."

The other:

"You have a special place in my heart."

I haven't used it.

I've looked at it. I've moved it. I've protected it.

But I haven't actually put coffee in it. What if I chipped it? What if it broke? What if, God forbid, it somehow got lost?

When I moved into my new house, that cup wasn't packed into a box with the others. I carried it separately and placed it safely in my cupboard. I know Jacque isn't in that coffee cup. I know that. But grief doesn't always care what you know.

Sometimes for me a thing stops being just a thing.

It becomes a moment.

A person.

A Christmas morning.

A birthday party.

My childhood home.

Or, my sister thinking about me and buying me a Mother's Day present she would never get to watch you open.

In my family, things have always carried stories.

My mom and dad both liked their things, and obviouslysome of that DNA landed squarely in me. I'm working on it. Because I'm starting a new chapter, and I don't want all the things anymore.

And good grief, there are so many things.

Walk through Walmart or Dollar General and look around. Scroll social media for ten minutes.

Buy this.

You need this.

This will organize your life.

This will make your house beautiful.

This will make you happy.

This will make everything easier.

Except most of the time, I truly don't need it.

I'm realizing that I don't want more stuff.

I want peace.

I want calm.

I want financial security.

I want a place of my own.

I want people around my table.

I want coffee on my deck while the birds carry on like they own the place.

I want my girls to walk through my door and drop their bags and their worries.

I want friends eating pizza in my backyard.

I want things in my home that tell stories not things I bought because someone on the internet convinced me there was an empty space that needed filling. Or a fear of forgetting moments if I dont have some tangible item in feont of me.

And maybe that's why I finally used the cup today.

Because I'm learning there is a difference between having things and treasuring things.

Treasuring something doesn't necessarily mean putting it away where nothing can ever happen to it.

Sometimes treasuring it means using it.

Holding it.

Letting it become part of another ordinary Saturday morning.

And yes, someday I could chip that cup.

Someday it could break.

That thought still makes me uncomfortable.

But if it does, it won't take Jacque with it.

It won't erase the Mother's Days when Mom gave us gifts after we became mothers ourselves.

It won't erase three sisters giving one another Mother's Day presents not because we needed another thing, but because it was our way of saying:

I see you.

I know how hard you try.

You're a good mom.

I love you.

Maybe that's what I'm trying to figure out as I unpack this new life.

I don't have to get rid of everything.

I don't have to keep everything either.

I can keep the things that hold beautiful memories without letting the fear of losing them keep me from enjoying them.

I can let some things go.

I can use the good dishes.

I can burn the candle.

I can put flowers in the vase.

And I can drink coffee from the cup my sister picked out for me.

Because I'm starting to think the goal isn't to leave behind a house full of perfectly preserved things.

It's to leave behind a life full of memories.

So today, I used the cup.

And I think Jacque would be glad I did.

That's eating the crust, too.