Bowl

At the end of last summer, I took this bowl, filled with spicy lentils and topped with its matching lid, to a potluck. While I was outside grilling, someone dropped the lid; it broke into several pieces and was thrown away. When I found out, I took as deep a breath as I could, told myself there was nothing to be done about it, and enjoyed my lunch. Secretly, though, and for a long time, I was sad and angry. The bowl and lid had been a wedding gift, one of several pieces of hand-crafted pottery from Brian’s extended family, and these earthy beautiful plates and bowls and pitcher had helped me create a home that wasn’t just mine. Every time I saw the bowl sitting uncovered in the cupboard, I sighed.

Last weekend, we had a little picnic, and Brian asked if I could make carrot salad (the deli kind, with miracle whip and raisins, not the healthy kind with vinaigrette and herbs) and put it in the bowl that’s blue inside. Later, when I washed and dried the bowl and put it away, I stopped and looked at it through the glass doors of the cupboard. And that’s exactly the moment I realized that this bowl had been sitting here for 10 months, its brilliant blue interior on display only because the lid had been broken and discarded, and all I was seeing that whole time was the missing lid.

This isn’t how loss always is.  Sometimes loss is loss and whatever comfort we find is from memories we have of the time before the loss or from the people who gather around and hold us up after the loss. But other times, loss really is gain. Those times, I hope you are quicker than I am to accept the change and see the beauty and give thanks.