I grew up with this sweet little jug. It was part of a set my parents received on their wedding day, and all of it would appear on the dining table every Thanksgiving and Christmas, a signal to us children of just how special the meal would be.

Now only two pieces remain and I have both. Everyone latches on to certain objects from childhood – what is precious to me may be meaningless to my brothers and sisters. They treasure things from our early years which I haven’t given another thought.

But this jug! As a child, I loved its rough roundness, admired its white lacy edging and marveled at the pale green color of its inside. Even then, I remember being impressed by the choice of that unusual green. Its solidness made me feel safe; its quirky beauty made me feel alive. I just loved seeing it come out of the cupboard.

Now when I see it, I feel sad, nostalgic and – I’m not sure why – a little frightened.

My mother is long gone and my father is so confused he no longer knows his own children. The wedding this jug was given in honor of is a blur in his mind now and when we speak of Mom, he thinks we mean his mother. The grief he feels at her loss grows sharper each time he remembers she has died. The marriage that created all of us – seven children, fifteen grandchildren – is lost. He is a child again, longing for his mother.

The jug reminds me of the truth. There was a marriage and the family they built for us was a happy and nurturing one.

But the jug also reminds me of how impermanent everything we hold on to really is, how little we can call our own, how much we will still have to let go of and how vital it is to do our best right now, while we still can.

“Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I know all that, but still I cling to the sweet little brown jug. I don’t take it out very often for fear of breaking it. When I lose that small anxiety, I will know I have arrived.