Homegurls

“Mommy, can I have this table when you die?” a 6-year-old version of me asked once about a drop-leaf maple dinning table that was probably not worthy of heirloom status. When I got an apartment during college, my childhood wish came true, and I moved the table from the storage shed to my dinning/living room. It served me well, but was no longer what my dreams were made of.

Three years later, I decided to leave everything behind and move to New York. I was surprised to learn that the table had appreciated in sentimental value. “But what about the table?” my mother asked as if it were an unwanted child I simply could not leave behind. It was a piece of the past, a table my parents bought when they were first married, and now the burden of preservation was on me. My college roommate Remy agreed to take the table in. I asked no questions, just relieved that it would be going to a good home, and I could go on with my life.

To my mother’s dispointment, I don’t know where the table is today. I suspect if it were with me now I would be desperately searching for a table cloth. The table no longer reminds me of my parents, but of my poor stewardship. I don’t regret giving it away, I only wish I had read this article seven years ago.

— Ashley