It's Just a Thing, but Oh, She Broke My Heart


It's a footprint. A special footprint.

No! It's a heart!

Yes, but it has your footprint on it, from when you were a tiny baby in the hospital.

Remember when I was a baby?

Yes, I do. You lived in the hospital for five weeks before Mommy and Daddy could bring you home.

Do I have a footprint?

Yes, you have one too.

I'll be right back! I hafta go get my footprint!


They couldn't fathom why this thing, this piece of clay with a barely there imprint of a time they couldn't remember was so special to me. They live in the present. They relish in memories of their last trip to the pool or their 4th birthday party. I'm the one who gazes at these tiny things and allows myself a deep breath, a WOW, and a quick prayer of thanks.

It's just a thing.

Update: I left the pieces on my dresser for safekeeping, even though there really is no safe surface around here. I came in my room one day to find Rachel messing with the broken heart. I totally lost it and may have yelled at her to leave the damn thing alone. Her face crumbled into huge crocodile tears as she explained, "But I was trying to fix it!" So yeah, I'm an asshole.


Connect with Leigh Ann at Genie in a Blog or tweet her at @latorres

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