I don't think about my jewelry much. I'm not a big jewel fan and I don't wear diamonds. Thinking of bling doesn't cross my mind often. But when a fellow blogonista tweeted about a week-long "right hand ring" guest blogger idea, I thought, "well, I guess maybe I could share my story, it might be a bit different from the other stories she will collect." So here we are.
As I said, I'm not that into jewelry. I've always had moral issues with diamonds, no matter how much progress they make in the Kimberly Process. (Google it.)
I had pierced ears when I was in elementary school, but those subsequently closed after years of non-wear. I didn't re-pierce them until my early 20's, when I received a fabulous pair of pearl earrings as a gift from a colleague.
However, there is one piece of jewelry that I covet more than anything. I fear for the day I might look down and not see it.
Here's a little background...
My dad was diagnosed with "The Big Casino" (thank you, Sopranos, for a way to say it without saying it) in January of 2006. They gave him six months. We only got almost four. Fortunately, I was able to quit my job and stay home with him during that time.
My dad and I were close. He was my best buddy, my biggest inspiration, my biggest fan and my biggest critic. What he thought mattered more than anything else. We would sit at Barnes and Noble and read books all afternoon (after I bought him a cup of coffee, of course), we would go Jeeping, hiking, play tennis and have fun parties with friends. He introduced me to wine (at a bit of an early age - don't tell CPS) and he introduced me to politics, which has become my career and my passion.
So, when he was diagnosed with late-stage esophogeal cancer, it was extremely hard on me, my mom and my brother. But we did what we could for as long as we had.
The last gift he and my mom gave me, for my 23rd birthday, was a blue topaz ring. Not my birthstone, this stone shines more brightly and beautifully than any aquamarine ever could.
It was one month before we lost him that I received my ring.
It never leaves my right finger. It goes with me to the gym, helps me with yard work, plays soccer with me, goes to the office and comes wine tasting with me. I wear it at times I probably shouldn't. I can count the number of times I've been without it on less than one hand. I feel more than naked when that happens. When I look at it, I remember where it came from and what is really important. It's not just some pretty ring. It's a reminder of what was, what is and what can be. No ring on my left hand will ever mean as much as this ring on my right hand.
I still miss my pops more than words can say. But at least I have something, so close to my heart, that can remind me of the wonderful person I was lucky enough to call my dad.
<3
As I said, I'm not that into jewelry. I've always had moral issues with diamonds, no matter how much progress they make in the Kimberly Process. (Google it.)
I had pierced ears when I was in elementary school, but those subsequently closed after years of non-wear. I didn't re-pierce them until my early 20's, when I received a fabulous pair of pearl earrings as a gift from a colleague.
However, there is one piece of jewelry that I covet more than anything. I fear for the day I might look down and not see it.
Here's a little background...
My dad was diagnosed with "The Big Casino" (thank you, Sopranos, for a way to say it without saying it) in January of 2006. They gave him six months. We only got almost four. Fortunately, I was able to quit my job and stay home with him during that time.
My dad and I were close. He was my best buddy, my biggest inspiration, my biggest fan and my biggest critic. What he thought mattered more than anything else. We would sit at Barnes and Noble and read books all afternoon (after I bought him a cup of coffee, of course), we would go Jeeping, hiking, play tennis and have fun parties with friends. He introduced me to wine (at a bit of an early age - don't tell CPS) and he introduced me to politics, which has become my career and my passion.
So, when he was diagnosed with late-stage esophogeal cancer, it was extremely hard on me, my mom and my brother. But we did what we could for as long as we had.
The last gift he and my mom gave me, for my 23rd birthday, was a blue topaz ring. Not my birthstone, this stone shines more brightly and beautifully than any aquamarine ever could.
It was one month before we lost him that I received my ring.
It never leaves my right finger. It goes with me to the gym, helps me with yard work, plays soccer with me, goes to the office and comes wine tasting with me. I wear it at times I probably shouldn't. I can count the number of times I've been without it on less than one hand. I feel more than naked when that happens. When I look at it, I remember where it came from and what is really important. It's not just some pretty ring. It's a reminder of what was, what is and what can be. No ring on my left hand will ever mean as much as this ring on my right hand.
I still miss my pops more than words can say. But at least I have something, so close to my heart, that can remind me of the wonderful person I was lucky enough to call my dad.
<3
(Pardon the man hands... Nobody ever accused me of being a hand model.)
No comments:
Post a Comment