The Ring
The day of Mom's funeral service, after we all returned to my sister's house and after we had spent a few hours eating, playing bid euchre, and reminiscing, my dad took me aside, saying he wanted me to go over to his place. I followed him into the little cabin he had built very lovingly from the ground up, wondering what was on his mind. In the bedroom, he placed Mom's jewelry box on the bed's puffy comforter and said, "Take whatever you want. Your mom wanted you to have anything you like."
For a second I stood and looked at the family photos Mom had slipped into the frames built into the jewelry box lid, one for each of her children. The smiles captured during special moments eased a bit of my sadness and I started picking up the different pieces. I knew several of the broaches had been my grandmother's, so I selected those. A couple of the bracelets came from Mom's early years following the diagnosis of the MS, when she would sit on the couch, watching the shopping channels and see something she liked. The phone was ever at the ready just in case she saw something she believed she couldn't live without. I placed those bracelets aside as well. Then I saw the ring. Her Mother's ring, the one with six birthstones signifying the birth month for each of her children. Mom loved that ring and wore it every day since the day she received it.
I picked up the ring, thinking about how only a week before I had held her hand and had adjusted the ring so all six birthstones showed clearly.
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
Throughout my days now I look at the ring and so many memories of Mom come to mind. I can see her smile. I can hear her voice. I can feel her soft cheek against mine as we hug. But it's not just Mom who comes to mind. I can see my brothers and sisters smiling. I can hear their laughter. I can feel their arms wrapped around me. Though distance may separate us, this ring keeps me connected to them.
And always connected to Mom.
For a second I stood and looked at the family photos Mom had slipped into the frames built into the jewelry box lid, one for each of her children. The smiles captured during special moments eased a bit of my sadness and I started picking up the different pieces. I knew several of the broaches had been my grandmother's, so I selected those. A couple of the bracelets came from Mom's early years following the diagnosis of the MS, when she would sit on the couch, watching the shopping channels and see something she liked. The phone was ever at the ready just in case she saw something she believed she couldn't live without. I placed those bracelets aside as well. Then I saw the ring. Her Mother's ring, the one with six birthstones signifying the birth month for each of her children. Mom loved that ring and wore it every day since the day she received it.
I picked up the ring, thinking about how only a week before I had held her hand and had adjusted the ring so all six birthstones showed clearly.
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
Throughout my days now I look at the ring and so many memories of Mom come to mind. I can see her smile. I can hear her voice. I can feel her soft cheek against mine as we hug. But it's not just Mom who comes to mind. I can see my brothers and sisters smiling. I can hear their laughter. I can feel their arms wrapped around me. Though distance may separate us, this ring keeps me connected to them.
And always connected to Mom.
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