Objectified

Ever since I was a child, I have been known in my family for my over attachment to inanimate objects. As a toddler, it was a yellow blanky, gifted by my Aunt Lisa, with my name and birth information embroidered in pink on the corner. It is carefully wrapped and stowed in my attic to this day, despite being little but strings after years of constant use. There was a blue Camry that I adored, and I remember sitting on my father’s foot, wrapping my arms around his leg, and bawling when they traded it in for a newer, nicer car.

I know most people do not grow so attached to objects. And for me, it’s not their value, certainly, because most of my prized possessions would be worth pennies to anyone else. It’s the feeling I get when I use them, I suppose. I feel the weight of love and prayers and a thousand good wishes when I wear my Grammy Coté’s locket. I have a ring that belonged to my Great-Grandma Bezner, and I feel secure in my future and my family’s past when I slip in on my finger.

I constantly reread emails and letters and poems written to me, watch a video made for me, when I need a boost of confidence. Everyone has a way of comforting themselves, mine just happens to be a physical reminder of the people I love.

This week, a gold and leather Swatch, a gift from my mother’s parents, broke. The leather, after years of frequent use, just snapped. The watch itself still works and I have no doubt I can replace the band, but I had to fight not to cry when it occurred. It’s not the watch. It’s the memory of going into New York City on a hot summer’s day, seeing a show, and laughing with my grandparents. It’s the flat gladiator sandals I remember wearing and the white sweater on my Mom-Mom. The watch was a gift that I wore, because I loved it for it’s beauty, and because it made me feel adored.

I am a huge believer that the little things add up. It’s not the huge diamond ring that matters, but the small silver stud earrings that were the first gift. I don’t need the watch to prove my grandparent’s love me, but it was so nice to have on a cloudy day. As I grow older, I have outgrown, misplaced, and broken many objects, some important, some not, and treasured others. In a few years, I will wear a different bracelet, my rings will shift fingers, and perhaps that watch face will hug my wrist with a new band. Luckily, the memories remain.