This Sweet Trigger Did Me In

I almost made it through the holidays. A visit to the thrift store took care of that.

You should know, my house would have no personality if it weren’t for thrift stores. I’m absolutely addicted, and I have been since I was a child, when they were ‘secondhand’ stores.

I love vintage, I love found art, I find beauty in the ragged and distressed. If you came to my house and asked which items were vintage and/or thrift store finds, we’d be there all day. I would have to tell you the stories behind most of them and because I love each and every thing, I would probably gush over them more than you might think necessary.

But this is about one piece. The plaque in the picture above. First let me tell you about where I found it: The store is called Gold Mine Resale Shop and I love that place, not just because I’ve found some amazing things there, but also because it’s run by the Women’s Resource Center of Northern Michigan, a group that protects and empowers women who have been violently abused, rendered homeless, or are otherwise in need of helping hands. They have sexual assault services, domestic abuse services, child advocacy services, and a speaker’s bureau. They run a free preschool for families who need it. They’re an amazing resource and it shows in everything they do, including running two resale shops in town.

I go there often.

I found the plaque there the other day and it called out to me in a way that both startled and charmed me. The fairy tale look and the gorgeous font were obviously the clinchers. I didn’t know it would cause me an entire day’s worth of happy-sad tears.

It didn’t start until I got home and unwrapped the plaque¹ and read the quote in my own surroundings—which includes so much of my Ed.

There are many great love stories, but ours is my favorite.

I wept. And I didn’t stop. Maybe on purpose. Maybe it had been coming, and I needed a greater trigger than Christmas and family and being first to open gifts because he wasn’t there again to be first. That should have been enough, but, strangely, though there were sudden, quick tears (that just as suddenly ended), I wasn’t blubbery-sad during that week with my family. We told stories about him, we talked of missing him, we made the meal he would have made if he had been there…and it felt right.

I needed to get home, I guess, where I could be alone and just wallow. It was as if those words were there just for me, and I found them at just the right time. I needed them more than I could ever imagine.

They made me happy, so why did I cry every time I looked at them? Why did I feel the need to keep looking at them? What was there about that plaque, that castle on the hill, the nouveau look, that sense of fairy tale magic? Our life together wasn’t a fairy tale. It was real life, a life we weathered together more often than not, far from perfect, but perfect for us.

We belonged together², even when there were those who thought we were a mismatch that couldn’t last. But we did. We got past our squabbles and learned how to give and love and last. And it feels as if we’re still doing it.

Maybe that’s magic enough.

1. The plaque is the work of Wisconsin artist Michael Macone and his two sons, Miles and Clayton, from their pottery, Macone Clay. It’s hand glazed and fired twice. It’s thick and heavy and should last forever—which is much longer than I’ll last, but it’ll be mine until my whenever.

2. For more on our story and my passage into widowhood, click here.