Goodbyes Are Never Easy

I was expecting to get a warm plate of grilled chicken for lunch Tuesday. Instead, I received a disturbing grating sound and the smell of burning wires. In the blink of an eye, our microwave of thirty-three years ended its relationship with the Kneeland family. Gone. No warning. No goodbyes. No warm chicken.

As the smell of burning wires lingered, the reel of our lives played out in my head. That microwave was one of the last original belongings we had from when we were married thirty-four years ago. It was a beast and demanded a full counter to accommodate its size and weight. It was purchased at Vann’s Appliance in Bozeman, MT in July 1990 and had been bought the week we welcomed our first son into the world.  We were living in student housing at MSU-Bozeman and my parents knew we could not afford anything as flashy as a new microwave, so they generously purchased it for us.  That oven was with us through our college graduations, a move across the state, moving into new apartments and two homes, the birth of another child, the boys graduating from high school, college, law school, changes in employment, the death of loved ones and the birth of a grandson. It warmed our baby’s bottles, leftover catering meals when money was tight, after school snacks, and late-night dinners after a long day of work or travel. It was dependable and always there when you needed a whole ham defrosted, or a bag of popcorn popped.

After delivering the news of our loss to my husband, we had the three-minute talk about the microwave having had a good run and the fact that modern appliances are not built like they used to be. Then my husband went to the store and the old microwave was replaced with a new, sleeker model. Unlike our last microwave installation, this time we were not rushing to use the new appliance to heat up a bottle while a baby was howling. This time, my husband and I both had to adjust our bi-focal glasses and work together on figuring out how to set the microwave clock and warm up his breakfast sausage the next morning. These processes took several attempts and were reminders of changing times and of a changing us.

My youngest son stopped by the house last night to pick-up his son and was surprised to see a new appliance sitting where the old microwave once regally perched. “Oh my God! You finally got a new microwave. We had had that old one since I was in high school!” he exclaimed, and my husband and I both laughed. I am not going to say I miss our former microwave, but I fondly recall all the life changes that old microwave saw us through. I am reminded that time waits for no one and is constantly marching on. Hug your appliances people and safeguard those memories. You never know when it is going to be your last meal heated up, dish washed or shirt dried. As an aside, please keep our thirty-two-year-old dryer in your prayers.