Yesterday, I somehow managed to lose a diamond from a very important ring. It's not a big diamond. It's actually quite small. But this ring (and the diamond M.I.A.) are more valuable to me than any other material possession on earth. I've lost the entire ring before, only for a matter of minutes, and when I did, I felt like my world would end. The panic and pain I felt was so immense, it was like she was dying all over again!
So, the reason this ring is so special is because it belonged to my mother. There's a beautifully morbid story behind it. When I was a girl and young teen, my mother was often depressed. Not just down in the dumps, but full blown suicidal. We made a promise to each other when I was about 13. When she felt that low, she could look at this ring and remember how much I love and need her. On the other hand, when I felt low (as I often did living in such a crazy household) my mother let me wear the ring to remember her love for me. It really helped for some reason.
When my mother finally succeeded in suicide, she was wearing the ring. Rather than let her be buried with it, I was selfish and kept it for myself as I sign that my mother will always love me. Since that day it has remained on my finger, and I still think about her everyday.
The strangest part about this whole ordeal is that this time I lost it, it feels different. I'm not in constant panic mode or crumbling in pain. It was one of eleven diamonds. One for each year that has passed since she left us. I can't help but think, maybe she meant for this to happen. Maybe she is trying to tell me, "It's okay to let go." It's a long and slow process, grieving for your mother. I'm going to wear this ring until every last diamond falls out. Maybe by then, I'll be "healed".
I love you, Mom. I know you'll love me throughout eternity. And though it's taken me a decade to realize it, I even know you loved me on that dreadful day.
