Prompt: A sentimental heirloom (that you lost)
Just reading this prompt put a dagger in my heart. There are two pieces of jewelry that I have lost that still eat at my soul. One was a necklace my late grandmother gifted me, and the other was a ring from my mom.
I know the exact moment my necklace vanished. My life was being uprooted, my future ex husband, and I were moving to Brazil, and our life had to be packed away. We were lucky and had an amazing support system of friends to help us pack our belongings, take our furniture, or drive unwanted items to donation centers. I was on my side of the bed packing up my nightstand and my best friend came in and asked if I needed a JM Lexus reusable bag. I said, “No, that can go, but please check it first because I use that bag for travel all the time.”
Now, this is 110% my fault. There was a huge possibility that the case for my grandmother’s pearl necklace was in that bag. The JM Lexus bag was black, and the necklace case was dark navy with a bit of gold on the edges. I should have just had her hand me the bag and check myself, but I was feeling overwhelmed with getting rid of junk that I had stuffed over the years in my nightstand.
Parts of my mind screamed at me to stop, and I checked the bag. At one point it felt like a hot poker was stabbing me in my brain, but I ignored it. After we took everything out to the trash that night, I had dreams that I lost more than the necklace and woke up in a cold sweat. I rushed downstairs to check the trash, but it was too late. I spent that morning going through all my bags and jewelry boxes looking for this necklace, but it was gone. I broke down and cried. This was the last thing my grandmother gave me before she lost her ability to speak and became trapped in her body because of Pick’s Disease.
This wasn’t the only piece of jewelry she gave me, but there was something extra special about it that I felt connected to. They were a simple strand of beautiful round pearls with an intricate golden finesse clasp. I’m pretty sure my grandfather had it designed for her because I have a jade necklace as well that he had made. Whenever I wanted to feel put together, I would wear that necklace. That meant it was in a of pictures. Although it was simple, it made me feel beautiful at a time in my life when I didn’t feel it that often, and now it was gone.
It took me moving to Brasil and moving back before I confessed to my mom I had lost the necklace. I felt like a child again. How could I have been so irresponsible? Why didn’t I just get up and double check the bag when every part of my body was pulling me to it? I will never know what possessed me to stay put, but I have learned the hard way. When my body is pulling me to a feeling or urging me to look in a certain place, I do. It has helped me find so many things that I thought I had lost.
About a year after I confessed about the necklace, I lost a ruby ring my mom had given me. I was on my way into Pure Barre for a class. I didn’t want to leave the ring in the car because the area, although nice, had a string of car break-ins. My normal routine: walk into the studio, say hi to the front desk employee, walk to the back and put my stuff in the cubby, go to the bathroom, and come out and put all my jewelry in my purse. If you had asked me to swear on my future daughter’s life, I would have. Every ounce of me believed the ring went into my purse. But after my class, when I was putting everything back on, it was missing. I looked everywhere in the studio. I laid on the carpet in the back room and checked every nook and cranny to make sure it wasn’t there. No part of me wanted to believe that any woman would go through our purses. But when I got out to my car, I laid on the ground in the parking lot looking for where it could have fallen. There was nothing. But unlike the necklace incident, I didn’t have a searing pain telling me to look somewhere; instead; I was left feeling empty.
I never found that ring, nor was I able to replace it. Instead of waiting six plus months to tell my mom I lost the ring, I came home, called her, and cried. Cried that I lost the ring, cried that I lost the necklace. I felt unworthy of these heirlooms because, for some reason, the universe didn’t want me to have them. She assured me she wasn’t mad at me, sad the ring was gone, but wasn’t mad. A few Christmases later, my mom gave me a small box. I should never have been able to guess what was in the box. My mom has a major shopping problem; my dad calls her an elf. But when she handed me that present, a part of my soul sang. When I unwrapped it, I saw a simple strand of pearls. Now the clasp wasn’t as fabulous as the one I lost, but they still mean the world to me. Now, when there is a special occasion, I don my necklace with matching mermaid and pearl earrings, and when the event is over, everything goes in one box and into a secure drawer. I’m not taking any more risks with these pieces of jewelry because I would like to pass them down to my daughter.