FAMILY HEIRLOOM

Sorry to say, but I never thought diamonds were my best friend.

THE RING

Whenever I wore that ring, I was terrified.  Terrified of theft.  Terrified of losing it.  It was a white gold band sporting a floral cluster of twenty six diamonds and screamed of wealth I never possessed.  I felt like such a fraud when I wore it, that someone would question me about where I obtained it.  And yet, it was so very, very beautiful I loved to look at it on my hand.

            But no, I didn’t wear it more than three times in sixteen years.  I had two choices.  Have it assessed regularly and pay for the extra insurance to cover it.  Or stow it away in a safety deposit box.  So that’s where it went, to a box at the bank.  I retrieved it to wear when my son graduated from the Royal Military College, and several years later when he married.  And then again when my daughter married.  But otherwise it stayed safely under lock and key.

            The ring had been a gift from my father to my mother on their fortieth wedding anniversary.  She had wanted a new set of engagement and wedding rings, as hers were almost worn through.  But Dad liked to splurge and demonstrate his success in life.  He needed the bling of ostentation.  So she received this gorgeous, sparkling ring that she seldom wore.  After he died, she gave the ring to me.  I suspect she was tired of being the keeper of Dad’s pride.  She also gave away the mink coat he’d given her, that also needed assessments and storage.

            After my mother died, I started thinking of death and wills and belongings left to children.  I decided to give the ring to my daughter.  But she lives 3,000 kilometres away, and I wasn’t going to mail it.  I waited, and waited, until finally she came for a visit.  I took her to the bank with me and in the secured, dark back room with all the safety deposit boxes, I opened mine and handed her the ring case.  She opened it and I watched as her eyes grew large and a gorgeous smile bloomed across her face as she took out the ring and placed it on her finger.

            “Oh, Mom, I absolutely love it!  You’re really giving this to me?  I can’t believe it.  I’ll never take it off!” she said.

            And I knew that with the third generation, the ring had finally found a home.

           

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By Lisa A. Hatton