She wore a purple dress, too warm for the season. I knew it was too warm for the season because my mom taught me these things. And now, she was living in a mission, and even this was a step up from the God awful streets. As much as I prayed to accept the things I couldn't change, the truth of this crushed against my soul.
I had asked her if there was anything she would like to have, now that she had a home, an actual place to live. Yes. She wanted a diamond ring.
In the past my mom had worn beautiful jewelry. I remember one amethyst butterfly and diamond silver ring and matching pendant, in particular. She was not from this kind of place, but she had come to know it fairly comfortably. And now it was all gone. All of it.
Whether these items were hocked, stolen, sold, or bartered, I don't know. I don't know where the upright piano that was my great aunt's went. Nor do I know where the pictures from my childhood are. My trophies and medals from gymnastcis, U.I.L. for orchestra, all gone. These are some of the casualties of homelessness.
The repercussions of what I grieve over since it was my mom who had all these keepsakes and it was my mom who lost them, seem to be relentless and unending. It comes up over something as simple as a fun project at work when people want a photo of you when you were little, or your mom to compare it to. Thank God some of these things have resurfaced and also that other family members have at least some of these items.
So, I choose a diamond ring from the few that I have. This one was given to me at my son's birth. It's not much, but it is something.
I understand why she wants a diamond ring. It respresents some of the dignity, elegance, and beauty that we used to know.
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