I've collected a lot of odds and ends over the years, some of which are still with me and others that have disappeared somewhere along the way. Every now and then I come across something that reminds me of a story I'd almost forgotten, or perhaps one I haven't thought about in years. Among those odds and ends are my bells and angels, two collections that began for very different reasons, although both have connections to my family.
The bells came first, I think. My mother gave me two bells, possibly for my birthday, although the memory of receiving them is a little fuzzy now. I know they came from her and that they were the beginning of my collection. Over the years I gathered more, but somewhere along the way most of them disappeared, leaving me with just those original two. It's funny how that happens with things we collect. Some stay with us for years, others come and go, and sometimes what remains is where the whole thing began.
The angels have a sadder beginning. Thirty years ago my first grandchild, Matthew, was stillborn, and shortly after we buried him I saw an angel that I really liked. I don't remember exactly what it looked like now, and sadly it's one of the many things I've collected that I no longer have, but I remember that it made me think of him, so I bought it. Looking back, I suppose collecting angels became a way of remembering Matthew and perhaps wondering about the person he might have become, although I'm fairly sure I wasn't thinking about any of that at the time. I simply saw something that reminded me of him and wanted to bring it home.
Matthew would be thirty now, and the angels have been part of my life for a long time. I don't look at them and immediately think of him, nor do I spend much time wondering why I began collecting them. I just enjoy having them around. A couple of them were made by one of my oldest granddaughter (his sister), and others came from swaps I participated in years ago, so they've gathered a few more stories of their own along the way.They fill me with a quiet joy, which is perhaps something I couldn't have imagined when I bought that first one.
I suppose that's one of the interesting things about the bits and pieces we gather throughout our lives. We may remember where they came from, or we may have forgotten most of the circumstances, but sometimes the stories behind them are still there, waiting for us to remember.
