The Shattered Heirloom Bowl
Yesterday, I was tying my shoes, rushing to get out of the house to my daughter’s eye test, when I looked up and saw year-old Yonatan balancing on the puppet theater which Saba Peter, Yonatan’s namesake, had constructed for my kids before he passed away. Yonatan’s eyes were agleam with the thrill of being a foot higher, and all the access to forbidden objects that afforded him.
And before I could even utter a single syllable of: “Somebody get Yonatan down from there!” my youngest son had grasped the antique glass bowl which my husband inherited from his Omi and Opi and had flung it onto the floor just as he had his peanut butter sandwich and tangerine slices from earlier that day.
It took me a few hours to recover from the awful feeling of seeing that bowl shatter. What a pretty bowl it had been. Glazed with delicate blue and pink flowers. A special heirloom from Josh’s grandparents who are no longer alive and whom he loved so much.
And then, right before I fell asleep, I imagined something…
In my mind’s eye, I imagined Saba Peter and Omi and Opi looking down from Heaven at Yonatan perched on Saba Peter’s puppet theater beside Omi and Opi’s shattered bowl.
But instead of shaking their heads in dismay, as I would have suspected, they were shaking their heads in wonder…And giggling, along with Yonatan.
Seeing straight through the material things they left behind, which have no value
Relative to this priceless, precious grandchild they never met.