inanimate objects

Crossing the street this morning, I whipped back and picked up a small green plastic dinosaur before the light changed. Not the smartest thing to do with right-on-red and other hazards of being a pedestrian on Massachusetts streets, but something made me do it. The school crossing guard (and likely every driver at the intersection) probably thought I was crazy. I placed the toy on the base of the pole which has the button for regulating the lights for crossing and said to her, "Some little kid might just be devastated that he (that's what came to mind) lost this." She said nothing and, for a change, no drivers had honked at having to wait.

I pictured the tiny dino's owner coming back from school along a familiar route, finding it intact (not squashed by cars) and putting it back in his pocket where it belonged. Together again.

Yesterday I met Beth Rotondo at a public reading from her new book, "Threads of Hope, An Offering for Those Who Grieve." It's a small volume, perfectly sized for someone to keep nearby during times of loss. Beth is a bereavement counselor and created "Threads" around questions that she's heard during twenty-five years of listening to people who are searching and living through their grief. The brief readings are her sensitive meditations and responses to those questions.

Beth invited her audience to discuss how we learn about death, mourning and life afterward. She said that our earliest experiences with death and loss inform how we cope with both throughout our lives, often unconsciously. What were you told when you were a child? Occasionally she punctuated her comments with excerpts that reinforced and comforted -- affirmed people's experiences.

So when I rescued the dinosaur today, was I responding to some message learned early on? It was a baby doll that "died" when I was about six years old. Did that part of me want to make things right for another child? Life doesn't always provide those opportunities. Pondering this as I walked along, I eventually arrived back at the crosswalk and, hitting the button to change the light again, I noticed that the dinosaur was gone.


Note: E-mail Beth (bethrotondo@verizon.net) to learn more or to order "Threads of Hope". It would make a wonderful gift for those times when you don't have the words.