Looking at the jewelry box and seeing mom’s jewelry right after the interment was something I did not want to do. As a child, we had always played dress up with mom’s jewelry with my elder sister and there was this one time when I was twelve and my sister was 16 that my mother entered her dressing room just as we were putting on the fancy stuff. When she entered, we were caught by surprised and just stood there in shocked silence. Mom looked at us, slowly approached her dresser, looked at her open jewelry box, glanced at us again and removed the pair of earrings I had on, and a necklace which my sister wore. We were both ready to cry when she then picked up a different set of earrings and a fancier necklace for us. She smiled and said “Try this on; they may look better with what you are wearing right now.” We spent the whole afternoon trying out my mom’s jewelry, talking about things young ladies and their mothers talk: boys, jewelry, and how to look and act appropriately. This act of female bonding continued from time to time and then my sister went to college. Mom gave her several pieces from her box: two pairs of tennis bracelets, 3 pairs of earrings: one with a pearl setting, the other with a half carat stone, and the third was white gold with an infinity design. She also gave to my sister some brooches and 3 rings that could easily match the other pieces of my mom’s jewelry. When my turn came to leave for college, I was given two bracelets, one with an infinity design while the other had some stones set on it, 3 pairs of earrings that were more or less like the ones my sister had except the diamond carat size was a bit smaller, and three necklaces, one of which belonged to my grandmother and was very special to me. It was the bracelet I wore most of the time during school.
For my sister’s wedding, my mom gave her a 2 carat diamond bracelet with pink, white and blue diamonds as a gift. It was designed that the diamonds intertwined with each other, much like an infinity design but a bit smaller. As my sister danced with her husband in the evening, people couldn’t help but noticed that bracelet sparkle in the dance floor. When I got married, she gave to me a ring with the same similar stones, blue, white and pink, which were the same in carat as the one my bracelet had. My husband commented that the ring my mom gave seemed to be better than the wedding ring he had placed on my finger. I laughed and replied that it was something a mother gives to her daughters: a tradition so to speak.
She had passed away quietly. Her illness was sudden and swift. We were all there when it happened. It was quite shocking to us all. As I opened her jewelry box, my sister entered the room and together we looked at what remained of mom’s jewelry. There was a note scribbled on a piece of paper. As I read it, I realized it was the handwriting of my grandmother to her daughter. The note which was dated the day my mom got married simply stated:” The best thing you can leave your children are happy memories.” Beside the note was a small piece of brown envelope and in it contained several pieces of blue, white and pink diamonds. My sister and I hugged each other and wept, remembering all those memories we had with mom and her jewelry.
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