The Small Hutch


THE SMALL HUTCH in the kitchen
I won at auction
when a woman who could have afforded more
stopped bidding so I could have it.

I barely knew her,
only that the preceding year
I took over her Sunday School class for the summer
so she could spend more time
with her father
who had Alzheimer’s,
though I didn’t learn about the Alzheimer’s
until she heard, some time later,
my father had it.
Then she told me.

It is the small hutch
a young man once told me
his wife would love to have
if ever I was getting rid of it,
but when the time came
and we were downsizing,
his wife was nursing a broken heart
and selling the home they’d shared
and couldn’t consider taking it.

I brought it to Louisville
and made space,
hopeful of her healing,
however long it took.

Maybe that’s why now,
despite being tired of working around it
and feeling it truly needs to go,
I still have it.
Maybe letting go
feels too much like giving up
on her or hope or healing or something.

The small hutch.
That night I first saw it
at the auction house
I wondered if it had a story.
Now it does.

About Marilyn

Reading, thinking, listening, writing and talking about faith, creativity, ESL for refugees, grief and finding the story in a story. Student of Spanish. Foe of procrastination. Cheez-it fan. People person with hermit tendencies or vice-versa. Thank you so much for reading.
This entry was posted in letting go, letting go NOT, long view, roadblocks. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Small Hutch

  1. pastordt says:

    Oh my, yes, it does. Thank you for telling it so well.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Seven Turns to Get There |

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