Creative Writing by Chris Bunton
During the course of my 51 years of life; I have lost everything I own five different times. So, finding something that is irreplaceable is somewhat difficult for me.
Everything, can either be replaced, or forgotten about. The moment I start to consider escaping, and living a life of freedom, those irreplaceable things pop up into my mind as a chain that holds me down. They are just one more thing that I think I cannot live without. Even though in my mind; I know I can and have in the past.
I was asked if there was anything that I might consider irreplaceable. And to be honest, I really needed to wrack my brain for something that is irreplaceable to me; even though, I don’t believe such a thing exists. Is it sad to have grown away from such objects; making them less important to me? At least I think they are less important. Society seems to think that we need to have these things. Maybe I’m fooling myself? Maybe I just seek to escape from them?
I went into my closet and pulled out a wooden box. It’s a special box that is “Irreplaceable” and is full of other, so called “Irreplaceable” things. Things that have managed to somehow attach themselves to me. They are things given to me by others, and often held in storage by them during turbulent times in my life; because they just knew that I would want them some day. They love me.
I move around some things in the box. Such as my father’s medals from Vietnam, and several watches and necklaces that have been bought for me over the years. You know the stuff. Those pieces of jewelry they buy you for birthdays or Christmas, and you hold it up and smile. You say thank you and talk about its beauty, but then it goes in a box never to be worn. Now, after years and years, the chains are all terribly wrapped together and ruined; just another, pile of “Irreplaceable” things. Stuff that someone else will discover one day after I am dead and ask. “Why did he keep this junk?”
Underneath it all, I find it. The Ring. My father’s ring. The one he always wore. The one my mother gave me when he died from a long battle with cancer. It is important to me, like his medals. It would hurt me to lose it.
I pull the ring from the box and try to put it on the finger of my right hand. It won’t fit. I must be bigger than my dad was. So, I pull it off and try it on my left hand, it fits. I take the ring into my computer room and sit down to write. I’m wearing it now as I write this. I’m kind of looking at it.
It was purchased by my father in Bangkok, Thailand. He was on leave during his tour in Vietnam in the early 70’s. I don’t know why he bought it. But, he wore it all the time.
The ring is gold colored. I’m not sure if it’s real gold, but it could be. It has a diamond in it or it might be a cubic zirconium, I’m not sure which. It’s kind of big. But, since it was bought in another country, diamonds could be cheaper there.
The ring feels weird on my hand because I never wear jewelry, so I’m not used to it. It has a weight to it. I look down and my hand looks like my dad’s hand. Not my hand. The ring and the lines and wrinkles of my hand bear a painful resemblance to his.
I have many childhood memories of looking at his hands with that ring on them. That’s what makes this thing irreplaceable. Those memories and the value derived from them. It’s a form of self torture that brings joy. Looking at these things that make you cry, but feeling happy that you did look at them again.
I’ve started wearing the ring on occasion; glad to have his memory, and something I feel is irreplaceable. It’s something to connect me to him; something that is a part of my heritage. I guess I was trying to escape the memories of him and his loss. Perhaps, I was also trying to avoid any attachments to something that can be stripped from me again. But, memories cannot be stripped as easily. They are a treasure or a curse; depending on where you are in your life. Explore those painful past memories, and grow from them, as I have
( I wrote this several years ago when I was in college. At that time it was 100% true, and in many ways it still is. But, since then I have found something else that is irreplaceable. Or I should say someone. My wife, Stacy whom I love very much. We were married November 2, 2019. I wore my dad’s ring on that day, to bring him in with us. I also wore my grandfathers tie bar, on my tie. Which is another thing, I have that I do not want to lose. God promised me years ago, that He would restore to me all the years the Canker worm hath eaten in my life. He has done so. I thank you God.)
Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois. He has published in several magazines, and has written a poetry eBook called “Against the Man” and an Addiction Recovery eBook called “Made Free: Overcoming Addiction“ His newest book is called “The Future is Coming” and is a collection of dystopian short stories.
Follow Him on Medium: https://chris-bunton.medium.com/
Read His Spiritual Writings on Blogger: https://chrisbunton.blogspot.com/
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