The Mystery of the Blue Heart

Mary E. Latela @LatelaMary October 10, 2016

THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE HEART

When Emily was a kindergarten girl, she was happy when her teacher said that for Mother’s Day, they were each going to make a mosaic. She explained that you could make a pretty design by pasting the tiles anyway you wanted to. The finished project could be used in the kitchen or placed on the desk. The teacher had gathered half inch square tiles of different shades, plenty of brown and pale blues, white, pale green.

Emily nearly forgot to pick out a heart for the center of the four inch square gift. She chose a blue heart, finished her project, and brought her mother a great deal of happiness. You see, Mommy and Daddy were going through divorce. Daddy did not talk to her, thinking she was too young, but she knew that something was wrong. Mommy wasn’t at home, she was afraid to ask why, but she heard her siblings talk. Mom was in a hospital for a while, then home again, then in and out of the hospital.

She’s my daughter and this is the one memento of her childhood, those days and months and years when her father took over the lives of the children, keeping them away from me, planting seeds of distrust, telling the older children that Mom had a mental illness, as if that were a dark and ugly sin. He never talked about depression as a reaction to his continual, cruel abuse.

I kept the paperweight on my desk. Sometimes, I’d brush it against my cheek, sending a kiss to my daughter and to my other children.

Without planning to, I tend to study the ways seemingly random events in life intersect, and develop meaning, and even aid in healing. Not only did I have my little girl’s paperweight in my very own hands. I found meaning in this special gift, because of the blue heart, which matched my own blue mood. I asked her why she chose a blue heart, and she said that they had run out of red hearts. Perfect!

blueheart1

Do you have a special object which reminds you of someone dear, or a special time in your life? Share if you like. .

 

 

This entry was posted in art, family, gift, healing, mystory and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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