By Stuart Terman
Grandmother had a mirror in the bedroom; Once and only once I saw her just pick it up, glance briefly into it and sadly put it down; leaving her parents behind in 1913 to go to the new world, never seeing them again, with the sorrow in her face rarely needed to be viewed. Lovely grey and black metal with a beautiful crafted silver handle, to steady this object when used. The handle just long enough, and so gracefully curved as to be held in the hand of this then 12-year old blue-eyed child, as fair as her then becoming more distant Ukrainian girlfriends whose mothers were now keeping their distance from Gittle’s parents. The mirror was rarely moved from the top of her old wooden dresser, that I saw as a child when living for several years with her and my Grandfather off Kinsman Ave. The mirror was one of a few objects to accompany her to our home after my grandfather died; my mother being her one daughter. She passed away, and the mirror now sits on her sewing machine, in my basement. It still works well, and accurately reflects the present; Perhaps with a memory of this past lovely soul’s reflection still somewhere quietly smiling into the glass.
Stuart Terman is a physician based in Cleveland.