Dear Acuvue2 +2.75, Birthplace Unknown, One Year Memoriam

August 15, 2011 – March 7, 2012 Rest in Peace.

Rest in the Peaceful Recycling Bin

Rest in the Peaceful Recycling Bin

You will always be in my heart where I will remember you with affection of your longevity and a warm, renewed appreciation of the quality of industry. You stood by me. You offered what nothing else could; clear vision from the day you were torn from the quiet teaspoon of nutrient rich water until you quivered and collapsed in helpless, spent age.

Regretfully, I did not appreciate your youthful vigor as I wore you almost daily in my left eye. Your first duty was to see me through a board meeting for the Community Writing Center where I wanted to sit without glasses at the table of a dozen men and women. You made it possible, as you always did, to read without glasses and instantly look up and use the power, the appreciated strength of my right eye to see faces, dry boards, and powerpoint presentations. Little did I know that night when I returned you to your private quarters where you renewed yourself in in the cleansing Opti-Free water and returned to my reading glasses, that you would become a most trusted friend.

By the middle of September I was impressed with your vigor and loyalty, but I was concerned. You had served a month, missing few days where you didn’t work for at least a few hours while I grocery shopped and you showed me prices, visited with friends where you helped me see their faces, went to dinners where you read menus. The freedom you and your legion of cousins have given me through the last years is noted.

Only a couple of your lessers have lasted less than a week. Aware of the unpredictability, I took a handful of your family on my two week trip to England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. But you were steadfast. As sturdy and as reliable as the Queen of England, and the beauty of the Irish countryside. You were worn everyday, all day, while I read historical plaques, inspected new foods, and priced cashmere sweaters.

Surely you would fail soon. I was positive of it. But on you marched through the end of the year as I went to weddings, dinners, taught a writing class, danced at an awards banquet, went to California, Arizona, and celebrated Christmas. I became proud of industry devotion to quality and my sustainability in a throw away society.

I looked with ever greater appreciation on your delicate crystal bowl shape balancing with the sharpness of a martini glass on my index finger before gently moving you to my left eye. So, I lost track of days as they rolled through January and February. I thought we were life long friends, you and I. Then suddenly, without notice, you collapsed and did not regain your rightful shape. I was in a hurry to a lunch event, but I took time to let you rest in your water and gently messaged to renew your life. Three more times you were lifted as I tried to make you stand another day.

Sadly, the time had come for me to realize all must pass and I should be grateful for the time you were mine. You were an optical soldier of the highest visual order and I thank you.

LilyOriginally posted March 11, 2012

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Not the Grocery List and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to Dear Acuvue2 +2.75, Birthplace Unknown, One Year Memoriam

  1. Inanimate object, but a respectful relationship. Wonderful. writing.

  2. What an ‘insightful’ post! Vision is a precious thing indeed, however it comes to be.

  3. Bumba says:

    This post was a sight for sore eyes.

  4. I hope it helps sore eyes feel better–and appreciative.

  5. delightful, and also mindful… and so very enjoyable

  6. rebecca says:

    Thanks for coming by. Writing should have its fun times!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s