christmas morning

Tuesday, January 03, 2017

I am a sentimentalist. My earliest understanding of grief came to me on the pebbled playground of elementary school, kindergarten. Like a magpie, I treasured a holographic Lisa Frank sticker of three brightly colored balloons. Please imagine the logistics of a 5-year old trying to hang on to a flimsy piece of tiny paper on the battleground of recess - I promptly lost that sticker chasing a little boy across the rubber tires. Oh, my heart. I can still smell the dust of the pebbles, clouding around me as I frantically scoured the Earth for my beloved balloons. Needless to say, I never found that sticker, and I cried. Oh, how I cried.

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