I have a new tradition, one that started a few years ago. Each morning as I dress for the day, just like so many women, I survey my jewelry. I consider whether I am going to go to work, who will I see, what statement do I want to make with my clothing and jewelry. And then, I open my jewelry box, and while I look for just the right earrings, the perfect necklace, watch, and ring, I remember my mother. This daily ritual is more than just finding the right accessory for the appropriate outfit—it has become more, much more.
The time I spend looking for my jewelry is a moment in time that I get to spend with my mother—the memories of my mother. It’s not a sad time; to the contrary, it’s a time to reminisce. Some of my jewelry was given to me by my mother. These pieces carry the memories of conversations that we had that relate to the ring, or broach. Maybe it was given to me on a birthday or for Christmas. I rerun the tapes of that event, her face when I thanked her, the joy that she felt seeing how much I loved the thoughtful present.
Then there are the pieces of jewelry that I inherited from my mother. Not from a will or some formal inheritance, but from sitting with my sisters and brother and talking about which pieces of jewelry meant the most to each of us, which memories could we take with us as tangible evidence of our loving mother.
Each and every piece of jewelry that was my Mother’s is a relic of her life with me. A time when I watched her get dressed up for a date with my Dad, get ready to attend a wedding, a reunion, or a night out with friends. Whatever the event the jewelry was a special part of the ritual, the ritual of dressing up as an elegant woman and going out in style.
Now, before you begin to think that I came from a wealthy family where jewels were the normal part of dressing, please let me correct this perception. The ritual of dressing up was extraordinary for my Mother. She had a few “nice” pieces of jewelry and each had a story attached to them. A story that was retold to me each time she put on the special ring or charm bracelet. So, in the moments when my memory drifts to an aroma of powder and perfume, my mother in heels and her one beautiful black dress…I remember. I remember her magic.
If you’ve lost a loved one then you may be able to identify with this ritual that I have, and if you have lost your mother, well, then you know all too well. Each morning I have a conversation in my mind with my mother. It isn’t strange or depressing, on the contrary, it is a brief, daily thought connection with this important woman who died a few years ago, but with whom I will always have a deep bond. Amidst the hustle of the everyday hurry, I pause. I pause to remember the smell of perfume and the lilting voice, which still rings in my mind’s ear to tell me the stories of the jewelry. Each day I’m reminded of her love and I feel connected and yes, protected, as I wear one of her lovely pieces of jewelry each day.