The truth is that it’s just a kitchen table, a piece of furniture that I walked past a thousand times a day and paid no mind to unless it was dusted with crumbs or stained with something sticky and un-nameable. It’s not something to miss. Because…well…in this life there are bigger losses to grieve, harder absences to survive.
A few weeks before I gave the table away, I had decided that this table wasn’t right for the new house, the new home, that I was building with my two children in this life we were patching together after the loss of their father, my husband. In a swift, almost callous, decorating decision, I determined that the table wasn’t the color and style and look that I wanted for the new house. That new house was a place that called for lighter furniture and calmer lines, a place that