Rusty old tools

I am noticing my home space today. I think it has something to do with some 8-years-post-accident paperwork that has arrived in the mail this week. That and the talking I've done this week with people about new homes and renewed lives.

I finished some random tasks that have cluttered my desk for months. I am faced with a tidy surface, and I notice again that I have adorned it with much intent. A card from Chelsea and one from Lorrie. I keep these because they remind me of the support, love, and thanks that I have received. You'd think I wouldn't need such visual reminders to be grateful and feel loved, but I do. I treasure them.

There is a glass paperweight in front of me. I remember that it was given to me by my former husband, and again today I ask myself why I've kept it. Never mind that it's gorgeous and was very expensive. I love dragonflies, and I keep it because it has those delicate, elegant dragonflies laser-etched into its interior. I keep it because it is the one gift in five years that showed me he listened when I said I loved something - other than ambulances. I like to imagine he didn't buy it out of any obligation, but rather that he saw it and thought, "Wow - that's her."

There's my wedding bouquet on the entertainment center. As I ran my finger across the dusty petals today, I examined myself to see if I keep this as a sad connection to my marriage. Not much arose, and I immediately thought about throwing it away. Then, surprisingly, I wanted to cry. I focused carefully on where those tears were coming from, and the image that arrived was of my mom, driving to every flower shop in the tristate area, looking for those perfectly earth-toned mums and the perfectly iridescent wired ribbon that she wove into the roses with so much love. And there I discovered the reason why I haven't parted with it.

School work from 7 years ago. Books from nursing and medic school. I cried when I remembered how excited I once was for this career, this life I have today. My home here is saturated with gifts and reminders from people who've loved me. Reminders that I want to be excited for my life once again. I found a book on my file cabinet titled "Traveling Mercies" by Anne Lamott, a gift from Holly before my trip to Rome. I flipped through my earmarked pages before filing it back onto the bookshelf:

"It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox, full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said, Do the best you can with these, they will have to do. And mostly, against all odds, they're enough."