What, really, is a shell? Is it a nest-wing of comfort? Is it a book of wise lessons and sage advice? Is it a warm blanket? A home? A roof that doesn’t leak? A hole in the base of a tree? A fence? Is it a place of solace like a fort or barricade? Does it keep something safely in or keep something out? Is it self-serving or sharing?
I’m pondering shells today. I recently rescued a six year old miniature schnauzer whose owner surrendered him when her boys left for college. She wanted to travel. My new dog’s former shell crumbled, but I took him into mine. As I hold him and stroke his soft fur and feel his playful nose-nudges, I have to wonder: will the boys and their mother feel the empty shell syndrome when they come home for holidays and realize that there’s a lot of love missing? Will they rearrange the furniture as they put up the Christmas tree and realize when they discover a forgotten toy that he was part of a family he’d loved and now he isn’t there to chase the ball anymore and nestle in their blankets as they kick back and watch a movie?
Have their hearts hardened, or will their shells soften when they realize the grief impact of their mother’s decision to teach her sons that love is a one-way street just for when it’s convenient?
I’m pondering shells and hearts today.
This post has such a melancholy tone. Your empathy for the family that gave up Jay alongside your pondering of metaphorical shells. I’m glad he found a soft place to land.
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