Family Rings

I've had this thought swirling around in my head for a few days, and I need to get it out. I'm taking a moment away from talking about the kids ... other matters call.

Last weekend, my great-aunt Angie had a severe stroke, and we were pretty certain she wasn't going to make it. She's 96, so everyone figured this was her time. We wept, but we rejoiced in her life. I went to see her, to say goodbye, to hold her hand if for but a minute.

Fast forward to today. She's being discharged from the hospital. She can talk and eat, although she's told us she's in a lot of pain. Far from perfect, she's holding on.

I got to visit with her yesterday, and she knew who I was. Ada was sitting on my lap when Angie opened her eyes and saw us.

"Ada, Ada, Ada," she said, "We were hoping for a girl. Is her birthday in November?"

"No," I answered. "It's October. She's my fall baby."

"Does she have the birthday ring," Angie asked.

The nurse and I both thought Angies was talking about Ada's birthstone, opal.

"Oh, it's opal," I replied. "No, she doesn't have a birthday ring."

"The ring. The birthday ring. Do you wear it ever," Angie said.

Now I knew what she was talking about. My great-grandmother's topaz ring that Angie had given me several years prior - the birthstone for November.

"Yes, I wear it, Angie," I told her with tears in my eyes.

What a great, great gift I've been given. It's one thing to inherit a ring, a very personal gift. Every time I wear it, I feel so connected to the women in my family. That ring was on my great-grandmother's finger. She wore it, admired it, cherished it.

But it's an entirely greater gift to wear that ring when you know how much it means to the giver.

And Ada, my Ada, sweet Ada, it looks like you've been appointed to receive it someday. Someday, I'll tell you about Angie. How she looked at you and said your name as best she could. How she held your little hand. You'll wear that ring and know about the beautiful woman who wore it before you.

Love, Mom