It was my mothers - and I broke it;

I did it deliberately.

Frankly, 

I'm surprised I haven't broken something of hers 

before now.

My mom was a 'collector' -

Toby mugs,
 thimbles,

bird statues,

 Sebastian figures,

nativities,

and on

and on

     and on.....
you get the drift.

Yet, all of these supremely unattractive items
got packed up and safely moved out of her house,
into my attic
and - months later -
were sold at our church's rummage sale -
with not ONE item broken.

No, what I broke in 2014 was her trust
or, more specifically, her will.

Which, while it gave my brother and I our shares outright,
put my sisters portion into an account to which she'd never have access.

I understand why she did it;
if it had been years earlier that we inherited 'her' money
(which actually was all from my grandparents),
my sister might not have been in the position to make very good decisions.

Not making good decisions was my sisters specialty for decades.

But she's older now-
and I hope to God -
decades wiser.

My brother and I were both inclined
to allow her access to her share of the money -
with no strings attached.

To do otherwise felt punitive
and only served to perpetuate
my mothers anger with her -
for crimes imagined and actual.

So I did it.
Lawyers were consulted,
checks were written
and the past was put further behind us.

Until Christmas Day -

when Art Boy presented me 

with a painting he made in honor of my mom.

 Iconic images of my mom...
the quilts she made him,
the blue plastic bag she always carried things in,
(yes, she was the original 'bag lady')
toys from the zoo
(which she always miraculously had for him in her purse),
the Toby mugs
(that terrified him as a kid since they were displayed at his eye level),
 a spool and a piece of plywood.

My mom would prop the wood up on an edge of a sofa or chair,
then take empty spools and they'd have races
which seemed to go on hours!
Art Boy never tired of that activity.

I was touched that he remembered her so fondly
and that he memorialized her in one of his paintings.

I promise I'll find a spot for it somewhere,
but it can't stay in the sunroom.

It's too omnipresent;
too large a reminder of her -
and I've spent so much money
for so long
getting her out of my head -
that she can't be hanging on my wall!

I'm definitely ready to move on
from the rescued painting that's been there for ever -

but, sorry Mom,
it won't be you!

The only thing that would break then is ME -
and I'm doing the breaking now,
not you!