The door that is no more

My mom likes old stuff.  Not as in like moldy food or clothes from the 70's.  She likes antique things.  Last year when she & my stepdad went on their annual fall vacation to the U.P. I was not surprised to find out they went to an antique store.  They bought a door, but since their car was packed full for a week's vacation, they couldn't bring the door back with them.  They planned to do it in November.

November came and went.

They finally decided in March to go pick the door up and bring it home to Davison:

The door is super cool - it's from the late 1800's and is just beautiful.  It needs to be stripped and they aren't sure where they are going to put it in the house they are building, but for the time being it just sat in the utility room at my mom's house, undisturbed.  Looking pretty.

Until yesterday.

We had a nice Easter Sunday and after going to visit my great-grandma, my mom and Jim dropped me off at their house to finish my laundry.  I got my first load out of the dryer and was carrying the basket into the kitchen to go fold.  I bumped into the door, and the next thing I heard was glass shattering.

This beautiful, etched glass is no more.  I still don't know how I did it.  The clothes basket had hardly anything in it, nor was it a tight squeeze getting into the kitchen.  I had made that walk at least 50 times since that door came home a few weeks ago.  But somehow, I hit that heavy door and it fell flat to the ground.  It hit a box of tile and some tools that were sitting in the middle of the utility room and busted into hundreds of pieces.

Of course my mom and Jim weren't home when this happened.  They paid hundreds of dollars for this door.  They drove 10+ hours to go get it and bring it home and it didn't break.  I quickly contemplated leaving my mom's house because I wasn't sure I could face her when she got home.

Instead, I called her.  And reverting back to a 7 year old, as soon as she picked up I sobbed.   When she walked into the door, I sobbed.  She hugged me and told me no one died.  I guess that meant she wasn't going to kill me.

But man, the guilt is terrible. If anyone comes across a door from 1890, please let me know.

Pshhh, yeah right...