I never really knew my grandmother, my mom's mother. She battled cancer for several years before I was born and lost her life to it when I was just over 2 years old. I guess I did know her, but I can't remember her.
It's only through the few photographs we have of her and the stories my mom and her family tell about her that I know her. Many family members tell me I look like her.
That's all I've ever had of her. Photos and a resemblance and stories. Until a few months ago. My mom remembered she had a ring of her mother's that she put away in their safety deposit box years ago. My mom gave the ring to me.
My grandmother, her ring, and me.
It's an odd design, probably a bit dated. But oddly enough, I like it. (Thankfully my sister didn't. She has another one of our grandmother's rings that our mom wore for many years. I never liked it.)
It's a mother's ring with the birthstones of her four children. Her parents gave it to her. They outlived her by many years. I knew her parents, my great-grandparents well. Through them it always felt like I knew my grandmother.
When I look at her ring Iwonder what life was like for her as a mother. It was a difficult life, but if there's anything I know about her is that she loved her children dearly.
I'm so glad to have this heirloom, this little piece of her.