For my birthday, my parents gave me a most precious gift. This ring was my Mom's and they had it cleaned and reset with a new pearl, to replace the original- which had been shut in a car door.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement as a childhood thought came to a realization. I would peer into mom's jewelry box and put it on for moments and imagine what it would be like to be "grown up." That ring was the epitome of lady-like demure and strength, probably because that's what the incredible woman who wore it embodied.
Plus, the pearl being my birthstone- it was just the coolest thing to which I aspired. And who would have thought, that it would reflect my personal style, all these years later? A classic simplicity.
And now, I wear it daily with overwhelming love, pride, and memory. But I had a double-take the other day, when I happened to glance down at my hand...
Holy crap- that's my mom's hand!
I know as I've gotten older, I see many of my features reflect hers, especially the shape of my hands. But this one was particularly profound.
Wearing that ring, the curve of my fingers, the dimples in my knuckles, the soft veins on the top - that's exactly what I remembered about the hand that I would hold as a little girl. The hand I held excitedly walking to my first day of school, walking into the grocery store eager for a cookie and Golden Book, skipping through the yard, if ever I was scared, or every time we'd pray- that was the hand I knew.
No comments:
Post a Comment