My sister was my idol, my best friend, my second mother — and then she left

T

he glass horse stood on its hind legs as if in mid-gallop. Blue and green glass swirled through its sleek figure. It looked incongruous near the pink china doll on my shelf, but I convinced myself that it was temporary. Soon I would present it to my sister, Naomi, who would surely treasure this gift.

But as the weeks and then months passed, the horse remained on my shelf, gathering dust, a lone memento of my summertime trip, and a painful reminder of the sister I desperately missed.

The summer following my high school graduation, I signed up for The European Tour with some friends. It was an emotional and inspiring trip, davening at kivrei tzaddikim and visiting the many Holocaust memorials that dot the bloodstained lands of Europe.

Our itinerary was spiritually intense, but it was also peppered with trips to exciting and exotic places in Europe. During the last week of our tour, we spent a night in the Austrian Alps and then traveled on to Venice, Italy.

Venice is known as the floating city. Art and symmetry are on every cobblestoned street, in every gift shop, and adorning every bridge. As I stood on deck aboard a ferry, I reveled in the city’s beauty. Quaint colored houses seemed to rise out of the water, framing the horizon. Small gondolas swayed down the waterways and beneath narrow bridges.

Our ferry docked at the island of Murano, famed for its artisan glass. I set out to explore the shops on my own and discovered ornate chandeliers, goblets and glass bowls swirling with color, a miniature glass orchestra, and even tiny glass grasshoppers. Their luminescent colors and intricate designs enchanted me.

I met the others for our scheduled tour of the glass foundry. Inside a large dimly lit room, we watched as the glass smith dipped a metal pipe into a liquid glass mixture. Gently, he blew through the pipe and as the glass cooled, he deftly shaped it. Somehow, as if by magic, he created a galloping horse.