Coffee Cup

I never cared much for archeology though digging up the past seemed like the right thing to do. Sitting here now holding the evidence of time passing, both as fragile and as utilitarian as time; I ponder you as a memorial.

I was forty when they left this world, first one then the other, as if one went on ahead to establish himself and the other followed when word was sent. They traveled mere weeks apart from one another both to the same destination. This would make you slightly older than me as they had you first.

Time has rubbed and worn on us both. We have heard many conversations and witnessed many confrontations. You yellowed and webbed with tiny cracks. Me weathered and wrinkled a little more each day.

I think of their hands; of how they held us both with love and wisdom and the skill of care required to keep us both alive all these many days.

I remember sitting in this very room drinking coco or chocolate milk, as if it were the beverage you were designed to contain, with them; being a part of them as you were when in their hands.

Now we two, once again, join in the game sorting through the lives they spent from start to finish. Who decided that it would be up to us? Who dumped this duty on our table? Alas, we were the ones who stayed. We were the one always around. It fell to us. We had been prepared for it by the very teachers that brought us both to this point in time.

Thank you for being here with me and helping me to remember. Thank you for soothing the pain with the warm, sweet, nectar you have so faithfully held and given all your life.

There will be a new home for you now and new children to fill with memories. And if God wills it, another pair of life times marked, in passing, by younger hands, a table full of memories, and you, this cup.

~David Mayo~