My Grandmother’s Ring
It’s certainly not a flashy ring; just a small gold band with some very dainty filigree and two tiny bows on each side of a very small diamond chip. To me it’s the most beautiful, most valuable ring in the world -- or beyond. You’ll soon see why.
Apparently my Grandfather Ray Chastine Ballard could only afford a plain gold band for the wedding ceremony to my Grandmother Rose Elizabeth Bush. They were married around 1916 and were only nineteen. But, sometime during the Roaring 20’s times were better and Grandpa presented her with this little filigree diamond ring . My Mom said that my Grandmother treasured the ring, protected and even hid it during the Great Depression so Grandpa couldn’t sell it for food or a nip of booze. My Grandmother wore the ring until she became ill and her hands grew swollen. She put it on my Mother’s finger and said, "you watch over this for me." A few days later she died – on Halloween in 1947. Died on Halloween. Now that’s a point worth noting. My Mother was a huge fan of Houdini, who also died on Halloween several years earlier. Whether Grandmother and my Mom ever discussed Houdini’s non-conventional spiritual beliefs I’ll never know. My Grandmother died eight years before I was born. My mother wasn’t married to my father then and I imagine she wore that ring every day after Grandmother gave it to her. It was her link to her mother.
Turn the clock forward to my Sweet Sixteen birthday -- July 6, 1971. Mom said she had a very special gift for me. She handed me this little black box and inside was a small old fashioned looking gold ring with a tiny diamond chip. I looked at her with a puzzled expression. "This was your Grandmother’s ring," she informed me. "I used to wear it until... well, you know until…" Her voice trailed off. (Mom had to wear salves and gloves at night because of damage to her hands. She was embarrassed by how rough and ugly they had become.) "Anyway," she continued, "I thought you might like to wear it now."
To be honest, I wasn’t very impressed with it. As I said, it looked old fashioned to me. Not hip or cool like the rings I would have picked. Not to mention, I never even met my Grandmother. "Yeah, sure, if it fits, I’ll wear it." I put it on my right ring finger. It was just a little loose (cause I was very skinny back then.) I held up my finger to show Mom. She did her knitted brow thing, her worried look, and said, "I don’t know. Maybe it’s too loose. You might lose it." "I’m sure it’s fine, Mom." And, with that I left it on. I didn’t realize what I was getting into. I would take the ring off and leave it on the kitchen counter when I washed my hands. My mom would lecture me. I would go off somewhere and leave it behind and she would threaten to take it away from me. "If you lose this ring, so help me…" Famous last words, because some time the following year, when I was 17, I did the unthinkable. I lost the ring.
It’s hazy in my memory now. I know we were living on Hancock Street in Ottumwa, but I have no idea where I actually lost the ring. All I remember is coming home and at some point undergoing interrogation by Mom. "Where’s the ring?" "Did you leave it someplace? Where have you been?" We went over and over this until she finally realized it was gone. Then the real torture set in. She was crying and very upset. I was overcome with guilt. Well, not completely overcome; I should have been, but I was a teenager. I felt bad and could see that I had really screwed up. But, teenagers are not sentimental. It takes years to hone that skill. That comes later in life when you’ve had time to appreciate the value of losing something or someone you love. So, at this point I was not really sentimental about the ring, I simply felt bad that my Mom was crying.
Who knows how many discussions we had about that ring over the next few years. I know we both cried about it again at my wedding in 1974. Something old, something new. Yes, if only I had my Grandmother’s ring to place on my garter. But, then so many desperate things began to happen. My dad was terribly ill and he died two years later in 1976. The funeral was unbearable for me. I fainted when I looked in the casket. The shock of seeing my dad in that way was overwhelming.
My mom and I were always very close and talked about everything. Losing my dad generated a major discussion about life after death. There had been some unusual experiences before and after his death. When he was in the hospital, Dad called for me and spoke about seeing his brothers, all of them long since dead. And, after he died I had a "visit." (But, that’s another story, one that I relate in my novel-in-progress "A Kindred Spirit")
Anyway, Mom and I discussed those experiences in great detail. Once, her sister, my Aunt Eva, was there but she dismissed it as "religious experiences." I knew it was more. So, Mom and I made a deal – a pact -- that when she died she would do something so remarkable, so definite, that there could be no mistake that she had given me a sign. We were going to pick something very specific, but before we did I learned that she had breast cancer and I guess it just seemed too morbid to discuss our special pact at that time. I thought the right time would come, but it never did. She got worse and worse and eventually she was on such high doses of morphine that we couldn’t communicate at all.
Mom passed away on June 18, 1979. There is so much more to this -- the hours I spent at her bedside, the circumstances of how I learned she was gone. But for the purpose of this story, let’s just say I was devastated. So much so I could not attend the customary family visitation at the funeral home. Instead, my then-husband Paul and best friend Sandy (who had flown in from New York) sat around and reminisced. Sandy said she could remember how deeply disturbed my mom was when I lost my Grandmother’s ring. "Yeah, let’s not even think about that," I remember saying. We talked about the "visit" from my Dad and how that led to the pact with Mom. I told them -- Paul and Sandy – how Mom had promised to give me a sign. It gave us all the chills and we decided to change the conversation.
The funeral was held Wednesday, June 20th. The whole thing was a blurr to me. I have few memories of the service, I was so upset. What is crystal clear is what happened a day or two later. I know it was very soon after the funeral because I was in the kitchen of my home on Rabbit Run Road still wrapping up food that people had brought over. My husband was in the back, taking a shower or getting dressed when I heard the sound. A sound I’ll never forget. A tinkling sound of metal, behind me. I turned around. There on the kitchen counter behind me was a ring bouncing and twirling until it finally landed flat. I looked at my hand and my wedding ring was on my finger. It took a moment to realize what I was seeing. Something I hadn’t seen for over five years. The same little old fashioned, filigree, the same tiny chip of a diamond. There was absolutely no doubt about it – this was a sign; an incredible, awe-inspiring sign.
Mom had returned my Grandmother’s ring to me just as Houdini returned his wife’s lost wedding ring – both promises kept. To send a sign from beyond, that love transcends everything -- even physical death. And, she knew I would make the link to the story she had told about Houdini. I did.
I’ve told this story many times over the years and people never know what to say. It’s incredible, I know. I can’t explain how it happened, but I know why it happened. Some bonds are stronger than death. Our spirits can and do transcend this reality. Our souls are more than our physical bodies. I’ve always known it and I have the proof. I don’t know if Houdini actually returned his wife’s ring, but Mom thought he did. I do know for certain that Mom sent back my Grandmother’s ring and I certainly treasure and protect it now. As I said at the beginning, to me it’s the most valuable, beautiful thing in the world – or beyond this world, for that matter!
December 31, 2000 -- as we embark on a new Millennium
Compliments of my Mother -- Alice Louise Ballard Hagans
written by her daughter Elizabeth Jamelle Hagans Morgan
or just plain *** jami
Happy Holidays! Believe!
© Copyright 2001 E.J. Morgan (future material for a book of short stories by the same name)