A tragedy

I experienced a personal tragedy on Easter morning.  I was on the computer looking for a recipe for scalloped potatoes that bakes at the same temperature as the ham (because of all things that should be able to cook together ham and potatoes kinda takes top place, don't you think?)  Finally the boys were too quiet for me to ignore any longer.  I found them in my room, in my bed, throwing the pillows around.  They hid under the covers when they saw me because they know very well they're not allowed to play in there but think it's a great game.  And then I saw it.  My rosary, in pieces, on the floor. 

I just about hit the roof.  Not only were they somewhere they didn't belong,playing with something they have been told (I think even that very morning) was not a toy and not to be played with.  They had ripped apart something that was very special to me, something irreplaceable.  It had been given to me by my Great Aunt Mary.  I think before I had even made my First Communion. 

Everyone should have a Great Aunt Mary.  Beginning when we were old enough to appreciate getting mail (and maybe sooner, I can't remember a time before letters from Aunt Mary) she would send postcards and cards.  I must have at least a full shoebox of the ones I saved under my bed at my parents' house.  Later, when we got older (and so did she) she would send treasures.  "I found this when I was cleaning out a drawer today and thought you would like it."  And often stated "no backsies."  There was my grandmother's tea pot and creamer, the sugar bowl long lost to history.  My mom had the good sense to tuck the letter than came with it into the pot.  There was oil, water, and soil from the Holy Land, a gift from a friend's travels.  There was an amethyst necklace and one clip-on earring (we shared February as a birth month.)  There was a tape of Thomasina and That Darn Cat she had taped off the Disney channel and thought I would enjoy.  There was a necklace with a cross with small pieces of turquoise inside a large Ichthus fish that must have been at least 3 inches tall.  Around the same time a western string tie came for my brother. 

My rosary might have been the first of these gifts she sent me.  It is definitely the one that I have gotten the most use of.  I love it.  And I was devastated to find it destroyed.  I think Bigger was the culprit - he fell apart too when I fell apart.  And he made all the efforts possible of a dutiful (guilty?) 4 year old to make me happy again.  Hugs and kisses, playing music for me on one of their musical toys, coloring me some flowers, suggesting that something to eat would make me feel better. 

I've found all the pieces (there are 8.)  It's all safely stashed in a small box, well out of the reach of little boys.  I've had it repaired before, it can be fixed again.  I think part of the trouble is that since it is older the metal links are weak.  So hopefully tomorrow we'll go over to the Catholic bookstore and find a new one that has the same feel as mine.  I do have others but they just don't feel right - too big, too heavy, beads to close together, beads too lumpy...  And maybe they'll be able to repair mine or give us a good place to take it in town.  I'm still a little heartbroken and feeling a little sorry for myself.  This was not the Easter joy I wanted for all of us.  And it just seems like I can't have anything nice or be able to keep anything safe.  I think I'm adding a "playroom" to my dream wish list for our next home.  Is three bedrooms, finished basement, dishwasher, washing machine, and fenced yard really so much to ask for?  For my own sanity I hope we find it soon.  And hope is better than feeling sorry for myself.