Object-ives #20: The Josef Originals Birthstone Figure I’ll Never Get Rid Of—and the Identical One I Also Adore

Why each of these keepsakes means the world to me

Lisa Rosendahl’s beloved Josef Originals August birthstone figures

I have two identical porcelain Josef Originals August birthstone figurines. One, a recent gift from my daughter, is perfect. The other one—the original one—was perfect too, until she wasn’t. She is broken and has been for some time.

Tiny and fragile, with an August birthstone that caught the light and shot rays of sunshine across my bedroom, the original figurine was at my bedside throughout childhood.

I came home from middle school one day to my belongings strewn across my bedroom floor. It wasn’t long before I noticed the figurine broken and tossed aside amongst clothes and hangers on the floor. The porcelain head was separated from the body, and one delicate arm snapped off at the elbow. I searched for and found the missing pieces and glued the figurine back together.

When I lift her, she’s lighter than she looks. Looks can be deceiving. I remember how carefully I held the broken figurine, afraid of damaging it further as I glued it back together. The repaired arm didn’t hang the way it once did and is now missing, and there’s a faint seam at the neck that catches the light differently than the rest of the figurine. If I run my thumb along that seam, I can feel where the porcelain never quite aligned.

I didn’t have the words for it then, but in that moment, something shifted. I knew in my bones that the rest of my life wouldn’t be like this—small and unattended. I would do better. I would be better.

In the years that followed, the broken figurine sat on my dresser, and I saw it every morning. Before transitions or difficult decisions that asked more of me than felt comfortable or safe, I’d pause long enough before the figurine, take it all in, then keep going. I was piecing together a life that mattered. It remained there through high school, college, and adult life—marriage, the birth of our daughter, and raising a family—as a steadfast, quiet reminder of my power to write a different story for myself and my family.

When our daughter arrived, I vowed that she would be cared for. She would always come home to parents who adored her, never question whether she mattered, and wouldn’t have to choose between asking for what she needed and staying quiet to avoid conflict. When she considered her future, she would talk about opportunities and experiences from a place of abundance and love.

Was I perfect? Hell no. But was I better? I was.

I knew this when, on Christmas, my daughter gifted me another Josef Originals August birthstone figurine. I shared the story of the broken figurine with her years before, and she knew what it meant to me. Standing there with this perfect figurine in my hands, I saw clearly that I had raised a confident, generous young woman who’d been watching me with the quiet understanding of someone beyond her years.

Now, both figures are displayed together on the shelf in my clothes closet. They are the first things I see each morning when I open the doors, should I choose to lift my gaze slightly upward.

Whether I lift my gaze or not, both figurines remain as visible reminders of the care, mistakes, and love that shape my life.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lisa Rosendahl is a writer, former Army officer, and retired human resources leader. Her essays explore identity, work, and the small, often overlooked moments where discernment and care quietly shape a life. She writes at Caesura on Substack.

Object-ives features flash nonfiction essays of 500-999 words on the possessions we can’t stop thinking about.

Recommended reading about personal possessions:

“I’m craving a landline” by Emily Ley, The Landing

“I had an existential crisis over tiktok shop” by Dacy Gillespie, unflattering

“18 things I *didn’t* buy at the thrift store” by Eleanor, Rabbit Fur Coat

“Welcome to Jumper Slut, an oddly specific new intermittent feature here.” by Mary Elizabeth Williams, Patient.

“Everyone Wants a Room Where They Can Escape Their Screens” by Nora Knoepflmacher, The Wall Street Journal

“A teen couldn’t find her mom’s 30-year-old demo tape. The internet stepped in.” by Dugan Arnett, The Philadelphia Inquirer

Turning a dead Austin tree into music, Instagram post, kut_austin

What is this? My mom found it at a thrift store, Reddit thread, whatisit subreddit