The art of making meaning

Back in December, I told the story of a statue I'd purchased a few years ago as a gift to David. At the time, I thought it represented our relationship, but later realized it was more of a wish I had for the two of us. When we separated, I asked if I could take it with me.

The next man I loved commented that the statue reminded him of himself and me; the feeling of love and closeness we shared, even the height difference between us looked the same as that of the two figures. But after having suffered a broken heart by him, I threw the statue against the wall and watched it smash into a hundred tiny pieces.

Weeks later, I decided to replace the statue but the store owner didn't have another and my attempt to contact the Argentinian sculptress was unsuccessful. Months had passed when I received a call from the shop--a shipment from the artist had finally come in.

The new statue was similar to the original, but not an exact replica. What was most noticeable was the height difference between the man and woman--it was more equal, making this pair of lovers appear less like me and the man I loved, and more like me and the new man in my life.

But I decided the replacement statue would not represent me and my husband, or me and the man I loved, nor was it going to reflect the hope I had for me and the new man in my life. This time it would just be me, a symbol of the love I already had and might someday share with someone else.

When the new man in my life became part of my history, my heart eventually gravitated back to the man I loved and the statue returned to its former representation of me and him.

Last week as I stood knee-deep in laundry and in thought, without conscious intention, I knocked the statue off the table. It was broken.

I sat on the floor with the damaged figures in my hands, asking myself once again, What is the meaning?

I carefully examined the pieces.

Because of its weak foundation, the man and woman were broken from the base and separated from one another. But if a choice were ever made to rebuild, if stronger glue was used, the foundation could be restored.

Regardless of the break, individually the two remained intact, and when I turned over the woman, the only thing there that wasn't before...

... a chip on her shoulder.

Just a little chip.