As I was putting away the winter decorations and taking out those of spring, I dropped my statuette. It shattered into a hundred pieces. I was heartbroken.

I purchased this little trio on a family vacation to Florida one summer. Mama always let us choose our own souvenir, but we had to pay for it with our own money. These three girls reminded me of my favorite storybook characters (Laura Ingalls, Anne Shirley, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and the rest), but – more importantly – there were three of them. They reminded me of my two sisters and me because each had a varying shade of blond hair, just like ours.

So I bought them. They were in my hurricane box when we evacuated.

And now there are only two.

What to do? What to do?

Ange will be mad at me. Hers – the one with the medium-blond hair – is the one that I broke.

I think I’ll scour the flea markets and garage sales for – well, not for a replacement, exactly. I can’t supplant one figurine for another any more than I could supplant any ol’ person for my baby sister.

But I have to have a representative of her, of Ange, because not to do so would leave a hole in my collection. A hole in my heart – the pigeon hole that belongs only to Ange.

Mama says that love is like pigeon holes. Each person has his own place in your heart, a place that can be filled by no other. So, I’m not trying to fill Ange’s pigeon hole with someone else, but her place will never be vacant, so I want her statue to be there, next to mine and Paige’s – this spring as it has been for the last forty.

I’ll let you know what I find. ❤