The Tea Cup

I loved my mother's voice. From the moment I was little, I would absolutely love to hear my mother talk to me. I would just smile to hear her voice. I found her voice so extremely calming, I would fall asleep if she was talking quietly. It was very comforting.

So one night when I was four, I asked my mother to read to me and tuck me in. She said sure at once and brought a little teacup into my room, read to me, tucked me in, and let me have a sip of her tea. She had been sipping on it, but there was enough for me to drink. I adored the tea, and my mother understood.

So after that, every night before I went to bed, I would ask my mother to tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story. I never asked for her to bring in the tea, but my mother did anyways. It was almost implied at that point.

She would say, "Of course honey, let me just get my cup of tea." She would get the same teacup and would tell me a story, tuck me in, and would say, "Good night Jonah. I love you." Then, she'd give me her last sip of tea and turn the lights out, taking the cup with her.

I became used to the same bedtime schedule. The same routine day after day, night after night. I loved my mom. Having her there to tuck me in every night became comforting to me. It became part of my day.

My dad one night was with me before bed instead of my mother. She, every Tuesday would go out with her knitting group. However, she had to leave my father and me at the house alone. I had to go to bed without my mom being home. I asked him to come to tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story. He agreed and told me to give him a moment. I ran upstairs, grabbed my favorite story, laid it out, and sat in my blankets. My dad came in with my mother's teacup. I was in shock he had the cup.

I stare at the cup. This is my mom favorite's cup, and wouldn't let anything ever happen to it. I knew how much this cup meant to her. My dad has never touched it before unless he was cleaning it, and even that was rare. We knew the consequence if he dropped it would be bad. But I didn't say anything about it because I still wanted him to read to me.

So he read to me and I listened, he tucked me in, and let me take a sip. We said good night and he turned off my light. I slowly drifted off to sleep wondering about the day to come. I thought about how when my mother got home I would show her everything I colored with my father. She loved my art pieces and listening to my ideas about the pieces. I went to sleep and dreamed about seeing my mother and father going to play in the park.

However, when I woke up, things were not alright. I shot up and heard my mother crying from the steps, my father comforting her. I had never heard nor seen my mother cry before. It frightened me heavily. I absolutely loved her, hearing her cry made me want to sob into her shoulder and comfort her. It made me want to hug my father and keep them close and nearby.

"It will be alright my dear. I am positive that we can find a replacement for the cup. Or can't you use another cup?" He asked her, trying to comfort her. My mother continued to sob. I heard the vacuum run. I ran around getting ready and got downstairs as soon as possible. What I saw brought me to tears. I ran to my mother's side crying. We tried to get grip on ourselves, but couldn't.

The cup was broken. The cup that I knew and loved. I adored this cup. It brought my mother and me so many happy moments. So many happy moments happened with that cup in the room. We understood that that cup was gone, and there was no point in getting that cup back. No matter how many we bought or if we tried to get a different one.

My mother and I went out grocery shopping and other things to get our minds off the cup. This was our favorite cup. My mom had even told me she had had this cup since she was a little girl. This cup she had before she even met her father. We loved it so dearly. I have had this cup come into my bedroom since I was very young. It had to be there when I went to bed. When we returned, my dad had a surprise for us. He led us to the kitchen with our eyes closed.

When we opened our eyes, our cup was in front of us. Even being kind of badly glued, it was there in one place. We cried tears of joy and we're so happy that the cup was in one piece once more. We hugged my father in great thanks. We already had a similar cup we could actually use in one of the bags, but now we could still see the old one every day.

It may not be the same, I may have lost my mother and father, I still have the original cup. I still have a sip of tea before I go to bed. I still love reading before bed. I will never forget her, or her cup. This cup is one of the most important things I have ever seen or had. I love this cup. It may be a broken cup to anyone else, but it is extremely valuable to me. I will never forget this cup.