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Jotting Judi


Posted by: tdt -

Autumn Memories

    As long as I am digging though those “still unpacked boxes,’ you, my readers, will hear stories of treasures and trash.  I hope you enjoy the reading!

    Near the bottom of a box, broken in several pieces, I found it; a red dirt clay bowl. My hand was poised over the large trash can when the familiar voice of my husband inquired, “Are you sure, trash it?”

    “It’s broken.” I replied.  

    “I’m a good gluer.” He began as he turned over the largest “intact” piece, so I could read the inscription.

    There on the bottom was scrawled AUTUM with an N sort-of dropped off below the M to complete her name, “Autumn.”  “You decide.” He said as he walked away.

    I could imagine her little hands rolling long pieces of clay and forming them into a spiral to create her bowl.  I pictured the work; the thought; the design.

    Thoughts about discovering I was pregnant with my seventh child and despairing over the idea came drifting back.  I remembered the day in July when I fully accepted she was coming and began to anticipate her arrival in autumn.  (Didn’t have the benefit of a sonogram, boy or girl—actually thought she was a boy!)  I began to anticipate meeting my new child. They placed her in my arms—Autumn Joy!  

    Suddenly I was drawn from the past by a voice. “Well, are you keeping it or not?” Chalmer asked. I gazed at the broken pieces of clay in my hand. I was gone again, down memory lane.

 I was reminded of a call I received while living in the Dallas area. At age sixteen, just four blocks from home—she was in a terrible accident.  The caller told me she was lying on her front lawn, bleeding. As I arrived at the scene officers tried to hold me back. “I’m her mother!” I screamed.  Kneeling at her side, she cried, “Mommy, I almost made it home.”

    A drunk driver hit the car she was riding in, head-on! Scans, tests, ICU; these were the scenes for the next few days.  Lacerations, bruises, a fractured pelvis; these were the diagnosis.  I recalled the long recovery period as her broken body mended.

    I saw her on the white sands of Cancun, standing before Chalmer as he united her in marriage to Jason. I pictured her in the Baptismal waters with Jason as together they acknowledged their commitment to Christ.  I envisioned her today helping patients at the WIC clinic in California where she works as a Licensed Dietitian.  And, I smiled as I looked ahead to January when she will become a Mother.  

    “Well?” the voice questioned again.

    “Repair it.” I begged.

I can see her picking it up in disbelief one day when she sees it on my desk. “Mom,” she’ll say as she tosses her long curly hair. “Why did you keep this?”

Meanwhile, my “keeper” pile continues to grow and the memories enrich my heart.