FEATURED STORY: Empty Jar by Lilah Gran

I had a jar once. I had it since I was a kid. It was an empty jar, but a jar nonetheless. I had it in my room amongst my other special items. It sits beside my jewelry box and my favorite book.

I had always treasured my jar, wiping it clean from time to time. But I never opened this jar. Not once did I dare to take off the lid. And that's part of what makes it special. Being untouched. Being reserved.

My Mother, every time she comes into my room to clean up my mess, would ask me why I still keep the jar.

She said, "Why not put that jar into good use and put some loose change in it?"

"It already contains something inside," I would reply.

Hearing this, Mother would just shrug and proceed with her cleaning, as if I simply just said, "No."

Whenever my friends came over for a sleepover they would say, "What's up with the empty jar?"

"It has sentimental value," I would say.

Hearing this, my friends would just shrug and proceed with gossiping about boys and school, as if I simply just said, "Just because."

And then my cousins would say in every reunion we have, "You still keep your jar?"

I'd reply, "It's not just a jar."

Hearing this, my cousins would just shrug and proceed with story-telling, as if I simply just said, "Yes."

Years went by and it was time to leave home. For college. For work. For marriage. For family life.

Much later on, I almost forgot about my jar, until my husband and I visited my sick Mother one Christmas eve.

"So now can you tell me, why you never opened that jar?" Mother said, pointing to the same jar I kept in my old room for so many years.

"Because it contains something inside," I replied yet again.

"I have a confession to make," she said.

"Did you open it, Mother?"

She batted an eye before nodding hesitantly.

I sighed. "Oh well, I guess I lost it now."

"What did you lose exactly dear? There's nothing inside but air," she explained.

"That's exactly my point. I never opened it because I fear to lose something not mine, but feel like it's been stolen from me once I do."

It took a minute or two before my Mother smiled and said, "This is about that boy from your childhood isn't it? The one who died at age 6?"

I nodded, teary-eyed. "He gave me the jar, told me to put something special in it. I couldn't think of anything special to put in, so I joked that if I can squeeze him in, it would do. But he blew on it instead. And then sealed it."

"Oh darling," Mother said, brushing my hair like old times, "I never knew."

With tears now streaming down my eyes, I managed to say, "He gave me his last few breaths. And that is what made the jar special."