You stored the food for the first home-cooked meal in our first house. You stored baby bottles, baby food and the first turkey for Thanksgiving in our new home.
You valiantly made the journey to our second home and suffered through the 500 Otter Pops we brought home from our first visit to Costco. You stored birthday cakes and even the massive layers for a wedding cake.
And when we moved to our third home, you continued to valiantly serve our family, even though you were relegated to the garage, while a shiny new stainless steel refrigerator took your place in the kitchen. You chilled cases of water, platters of veggies and sandwiches for graduation parties, froze beyond recognition old bananas and even older Halloween candy.
Today you decided you’d had enough. You quietly gave up, slowly defrosting some Pedialite Pops that had called you home since our teenager was a baby. We rescued the rest of the food just in time, but, alas, it was too late for you.
And so when we wheel you out to the curb tomorrow night, and two men drive up in a truck the next day with an official city dump seal on their door, please don’t be afraid. Your work is done. It is time for you to retire, and you can rest assured you’ve served your family well. Don’t worry when they chuck you off the back of the truck into a pile of rusting appliances the city landfill. You’ll last a long time there, and you’ll get to rest in the one position until a bulldozer comes and moves you around to make room for new friends.
And just think. You’re on of the few appliances that actually has it’s own poem to immortalize your career.