Today, my long‑used spatula broke. It may seem like such a small thing, but it was my favorite. I’m not even sure why, I just liked it. It fit my hand perfectly, flipped pancakes just right, served up meals with ease, and quietly helped me through countless ordinary days.
As I thought about replacing it, tears welled up because
this wasn’t just a spatula. It was the one I used to prepare many meals for Kelly
and me. It stirred more than
food tonight; it stirred memories.
Now that Kelly has passed, this simple kitchen tool carries
a weight I never expected. It’s a reminder of love, of shared routines, of our everyday time together . Today, as it broke, I felt the ache of
loss in a new way.
Grief shows up in the most unexpected places. Today, it was
the spatula. It’s still usable in a gentle way, and I will find another one,
but this one will stay with me for the rest of my life. I never would have
guessed that something so small could trigger such a powerful reminder of my
love for my dear, sweet companion.
I also felt something else. A quiet reassurance that the Lord is aware of me, even here in my kitchen, holding a broken utensil and the tender memories that go with my spatula. He knows how deeply I love Kelly, and He honors those feelings. Nothing good is ever lost to Him. Not love. Not memory. Not the life Kelly and I built together.
One day, all broken things will be made whole again. Until then, even a spatula can become a reminder that love endures, and that God walks with me through every small, unexpected corner of grief.
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