I Lost the Ring not the Sentiment
Today I lost the ring I inherited from my grandmother. It wasn’t an expensive ring, a coin, wrapped in silver, yet it was priceless. To me, it was a source of power that guided me through the days when I felt like I needed extra support. Today was one of those days. When you loose something that has “been there with you” through all the random journeys of life, it feels like a part of you goes with it.
On the surface, it was the same as any other morning, check my hair, grab my bag, slide on the ring as my mind escaped into a Super Hero moment (Hercules ignited with a jolt of power). A little deeper in, I was struggling with some internal questions wondering “what was going to be next for me in this little life?” Keeping a strong face, I walked into work, determined to overcome all the confused feelings happening inside of me. In a Stewart Smiley moment, I was going to create for myself, a fantastic day. As soon as I got to my desk, I realized my hand was much lighter than before. In slow motion, I looked down, knowing that the ring was already gone from my finger.
My mind and body turned frantic, flipping over papers, bags, and pockets. . My heart raced while the makeup that had taken me 20 minutes to put on, flowed over me in only seconds. To some, my overwhelming sense of loss, may seem silly. And really, it is funny, how something so small, held such tremendous significance to my existence.
But it wasn’t the ring; it was my Grandma. All I could see were her fingers, semi arthritic, and wrinkled like ripples in the sand. As she got older, the ring became loser, as if a bangle dangling on a child’s wrist. She would always take it in her fingers and twirl it around saying, “I don’t know where I got this ring, it’s a coin though…can you see what year it’s from?” I never could tell, it was too old, but as her dementia got worse, I could almost predict when she was about to ask me to look, again, as if we hadn’t just had the same conversation an hour before.
Why is that we attach our emotions of a memory, to “things”? Why does it take a loss to really appreciate what we have? Disoriented, I wondered how I would cope without it. A lost ring, had now taken part of my identity with it. What was going to lead me through my presentations, my writings, my negotiations? What could I turn to for support when I felt like I was taking on the world alone? Well, these were the dramatic, yet real, thoughts racing through me.
I called my mom, afraid of her disappointment. Here is a woman, whose house stores fifty-seven years worth of memories. However, she eloquently pointed out, how loosing this ring, could very well be a symbol of something greater. “Des, Nana is with you whether or not you wear your ring, maybe it’s time to learn to trust something inside of you.”
I’ve lost many things in my life, relatives, relationships,…socks. And no matter what it is, it never feels good. Logically I can put loss into perspective; loosing a ring is nothing like loosing a grandmother, unless you put the same amount of value into its presence. I guess the real lesson is not to let things represent who you are, but rather, trusting, that if you were left with nothing, you’d still have a lifetime of memories to lead your way.
©Desiree Daniel January 20, 2005
On the surface, it was the same as any other morning, check my hair, grab my bag, slide on the ring as my mind escaped into a Super Hero moment (Hercules ignited with a jolt of power). A little deeper in, I was struggling with some internal questions wondering “what was going to be next for me in this little life?” Keeping a strong face, I walked into work, determined to overcome all the confused feelings happening inside of me. In a Stewart Smiley moment, I was going to create for myself, a fantastic day. As soon as I got to my desk, I realized my hand was much lighter than before. In slow motion, I looked down, knowing that the ring was already gone from my finger.
My mind and body turned frantic, flipping over papers, bags, and pockets. . My heart raced while the makeup that had taken me 20 minutes to put on, flowed over me in only seconds. To some, my overwhelming sense of loss, may seem silly. And really, it is funny, how something so small, held such tremendous significance to my existence.
But it wasn’t the ring; it was my Grandma. All I could see were her fingers, semi arthritic, and wrinkled like ripples in the sand. As she got older, the ring became loser, as if a bangle dangling on a child’s wrist. She would always take it in her fingers and twirl it around saying, “I don’t know where I got this ring, it’s a coin though…can you see what year it’s from?” I never could tell, it was too old, but as her dementia got worse, I could almost predict when she was about to ask me to look, again, as if we hadn’t just had the same conversation an hour before.
Why is that we attach our emotions of a memory, to “things”? Why does it take a loss to really appreciate what we have? Disoriented, I wondered how I would cope without it. A lost ring, had now taken part of my identity with it. What was going to lead me through my presentations, my writings, my negotiations? What could I turn to for support when I felt like I was taking on the world alone? Well, these were the dramatic, yet real, thoughts racing through me.
I called my mom, afraid of her disappointment. Here is a woman, whose house stores fifty-seven years worth of memories. However, she eloquently pointed out, how loosing this ring, could very well be a symbol of something greater. “Des, Nana is with you whether or not you wear your ring, maybe it’s time to learn to trust something inside of you.”
I’ve lost many things in my life, relatives, relationships,…socks. And no matter what it is, it never feels good. Logically I can put loss into perspective; loosing a ring is nothing like loosing a grandmother, unless you put the same amount of value into its presence. I guess the real lesson is not to let things represent who you are, but rather, trusting, that if you were left with nothing, you’d still have a lifetime of memories to lead your way.
©Desiree Daniel January 20, 2005
posted by Desiree Daniel @ 4:57 PM
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