The Green Marble
For many years, my husband and I stayed in our large, family
house even after the children had married and moved away. We
thought that it made sense to keep it, since the children and
grandchildren would come home often for Shabbos and Yom Tov.
Even though it was difficult to maintain, I was happy to stay
in our home. This is the same home where all our children
were born and where we have shared both joys and sorrows.
Each room had a special place in my heart.
This story really begins after my husband passed away. He had
been sick for some time, but whenever my children tried to
speak to me about where I would live "after," I didn't want
to hear of it. At first, I just kept insisting that their
father would pull through. I just couldn't accept that he was
dying. And after he passed away, I didn't want to leave the
house. All of my children tried to persuade me that the house
was far too big for just one person and it had too many
memories of my husband. But I told them that I wanted those
memories, and it would hurt too much to part with our
home.
Everything changed one day when I tripped over a step and
broke my hip. Suddenly, I was dependent on my children for
everything. At first, I moved into one of my daughter's
apartments, but it was small and the grandchildren were a
little noisy to be around twenty-four hours a day. I
discussed the situation with my children, and I reluctantly
agreed that it didn't make sense for me to live in the house
alone, anymore. We found a nice assisted living facility
nearby, and my children said that they would work together to
pack my things. As soon as they could, they would put the
house up for sale.
I'm not telling this story to criticize my children because I
know that they had the best of intentions in the saga that
follows. I'm telling my story in order to warn others, if
they should come across a similar situation. I was never a
very materialistic person and though many of my possessions
had sentimental meaning to me, I knew that they wouldn't be
able to fit into my new one-bedroom apartment. But I did ask
my children to please bring me all of my personal things so I
could go through them myself. I assumed that they would
understand that I meant all of my things, but unfortunately,
some things in my drawers just didn't look worth saving to
them. It really was my fault that I forgot to tell them about
the green marble.
The green marble is all I have left from my family that
perished in the Holocaust. When we were being deported, my
four-year-old brother handed me his favorite green marble and
whispered, "Bayla, please keep it for me until later."
Tragically, there was never a "later" and my precious little
brother died a few weeks later in one of the camps.
Throughout those horrific years in Treblinka I held on to
that marble for dear life. I took it with me everywhere, and
when we were freed, I kept it with me as we rebuilt our
lives.
I put it in a special place in my dresser drawer, and I would
take it out from time to time to remember my brother and my
parents. Somehow, it comforted me, and when my husband died,
I would go to hold it when no one was looking. I'm not sure
why I kept it a secret from my children. I never wanted to
bring that depth of sadness into their lives, so I never
spoke about those years. I thought that I was protecting
them.
When I broke my hip and went into the hospital, I left the
green marble in its place. It was safer there, I thought. And
when my children agreed to bring me all of my things, I was
sure that they would bring it with all of my other jewelry
and clothes.
I searched desperately for it when I arrived in my new
apartment, and it was nowhere to be found. I asked my son
about it, and he thought for a minute and said, "Oh, I think
Moshe threw out the tissues and old clips and that marble.
Why, do you need it?"
I felt tears spring to my eyes, and I was about to finally
tell my children the story. But the loss was too painful
right then, and I didn't want to make them feel guilty. So I
made myself smile right then and said.
"That's alright. It's okay." And I decided that when I
gathered up the courage, I would share my story, at least
with the readers, so that parents would make sure to tell
their children to keep items that they want. After all, one
person's garbage is another person's treasure.
