Category: Writing

the knock on the classroom door took nobody by surprise. in between defining the X and the Y axis, ms. gibson strolled over to let the visitor in. it was shirley, the school’s office assistant. at least, it looked like shirley. curly ribbons covered her arms like thin, plastic bracelets and balloons floated up and down, hiding her face. but it was shirley alright. her blue-gray hair peeked out just enough to identify her.

after she handed ms. gibson the balloons, she closed the large metal door as quietly as one could. even with her extra effort, the slam echoed down the empty hall, vibrating off lockers and the shiny tile floor.

ms. gibson looked down at the card sticking out of the vase where the balloons and a few flowers had been planted.

“it’s for you, jannelle. for your birthday. from your dad.”

blushing, yet secretly proud, jannelle walked to the front of the class to retrieve her gift. she didn’t like knowing every kid in her fourth grade class was watching her, but she couldn’t help but feel the swelling in her heart, knowing her dad remembered her birthday. he may not have been around much, but this yearly tradition always was a perfect reminder that she was loved.

while the rest of the class continued on to geometry, jannelle stared at the vase. it was short…more like a pot, really, than a vase. there were glittery moons and stars painted on the dark, midnight blue ceramic. it was just like the sky she would look out at every night from her front yard.

eventually, the balloons deflated and the flowers died a few days later, but jannelle held on to that pot like it was her most valued possession. she placed it prominently on her dresser back in her bedroom, using it as a container for jewelry or candles or other knick knacks that she picked up along the way.

and then jannelle grew up like most fourth graders do. she found her own two feet and started out on her own. the starry clay pot went along the journey with her.

from her first apartment to her first condo, through various rooomates and even different cities, the starry clay pot was like a quiet whisper of affirmation from her past. she got married, and as she unpacked her belongings in her new home, she carefully unwrapped the pot and placed it on the ledge above her kitchen sink.

she took a step back and stared at it. twenty years later, it was still in perfect shape. yet her heart grieved, knowing her relationship with her father and her family hadn’t traveled as well as this clay pot had. in fact, they hadn’t spoken to each other in quite some time.

one quiet, sunday afternoon, jannelle walked through the front door. casually, her husband said,

“you know that blue pot with the stars on it? i hope that wasn’t very important or anything.”

she could barely catch her breath.

“why?”

“it got bumped off the ledge. it shattered.”

the grief she felt earlier traveled from her heart into her stomach and then back in her throat again. there was a sad irony about the pot breaking. maybe it was time. time to embrace the fact that life and love looked different now than they did in the fourth grade. that family doesn’t always mean flesh and blood, but those who surround you and care about you and support you during all the seasons of your life.

no doubt there was something sentimental about a starry clay pot. and even though what’s left is now thrown out with empty cereal boxes and soda cans, jannelle can take a deep breath and let go. because she knows that outside, a real midnight blue sky with swirls of stars and a sparkly moon are waiting for her. and under that moon and those stars are people that love her.