Broken glass

 

I broke a glass yesterday. Yesterday was the first anniversary of Ken's death.

I remember as we prepared for our wedding, Ken was looking for the perfect glass.

You see, he wanted a real glass, not a light bulb (that's cheating!), to smash under his heel in the traditional way at the conclusion of our Jewish wedding ceremony.

At a Jewish wedding, a glass is wrapped in a napkin, and the groom steps on it to break it into pieces at the conclusion of the service. Many theories are proposed to explain why we do this: to remind us of the fragility of life; to remind us that even in our joy, we should remember the sorrows of our past, and commit to a life of rebuilding.

Who knows why? As Tevye says, It's tradition!

At some weddings, a light bulb has been substituted. A light bulb is easy to smash!

But no light bulb for our wedding! Ken was searching for a glass. He wanted a real glass, but a fragile glass that would definitely crush. He'd been to a wedding, he said, where the groom had several tries and had a real hard time crushing the glass.

We finally found a lovely, delicate glass. I can't remember where- maybe Crate & Barrel? 

It was wrapped in a white linen napkin, and at the end of our service, Ken stomped, the glass shattered, and the shul erupted in joyous cries of Mazel tov!

I broke a glass yesterday. In the dishwasher, it was stacked under a plastic colander and somehow when I was opening the dishwasher, something stuck or jammed and I heard the sound of glass breaking.

So fragile.

The fragility of life.

Sorrow amidst so much joy. A life to be rebuilt. Memory.

It was the first anniversary of your death.

I broke a glass.