“Okay Natalie” Aunt Sherri says as she flits around the hotel room in her pajama suit, juggling four things at a time like she’s rushed but can’t decide which thing to do first.

She randomly interjects: “Okay Natalie.” and I jump: “what?!” And she says “WHAT?!” and I say “Well you said my name.” And she said “I thought you saw a bug or something!” I said “No you just never say my name, I thought you were mad or something!” It was a tone like I was in trouble, but now I realize the thought of the task just made her edgy.

And then, I knew.

She said: “Come sit.” Patted the bed.

I sit on the bed looking at the other bed, in the ancient room at The Gilmore. It’s not as fancy as it sounds, it’s just old.

She has a midnight blue jewelry box. “I want to give you this.” She cracks it open. I could tell that as the box made that snapping sound as it opened, she was torn at the decision. She was already crying.

The ring is beautiful. It’s beautiful. On one band there is a prominent diamond hugged by two smaller diamonds, on the second band there are four smaller diamonds. The two bands touch and on the underside, they become one band. Nana had 5 children and her husband. If you consider Nana the prominent diamond, she is surrounded by the smaller diamonds as each member of her family.

When Nana died, Aunt Sherri and I spent time with her body. Aunt Sherri was there for her departure. I was there for the silence that followed. Without needing to say this: It was extremely difficult.

 

Aunt Sherri sniffles rhythmically, wipes tears: “I spent $200 to have it cleaned. It would have cost an extra $100 to reinforce the bottom and I didn’t want to do that. But I did have it cleaned.”

“Well I’d have to get it resized anyway so it’s okay that you didn’t mess with the band.”

“I saw these rings on her fingers all the time growing up”

“Right, I wouldn’t have seen them since they split when I was young.”

I held her crinkle-eyed face in my hand, pulling it toward my head. I’m used to seeing her eyes crinkle. It’s like identifying the rain clouds before the sky opens.

We sit in quiet. I hold her left check in my left hand, bent in front of her. She wipes her nose, her eyes. This has been harder for her than she can say.

“It’s a bitch, isn’t it.”

“It is.”

The ring, I can’t express enough, is so perfectly delicate.

For Aunt Sherri to give it to me is the greatest generosity I could receive.

Nana was decided, Aunt Sherri told me, that Aunt Sherri should keep the ring.

Aunt Sherri has had some health complications of late, which she doesn’t much talk about. It’s the quiet undercurrent of our conversation that we don’t discuss.

I have my life ahead of me, romantic possibilities, glorious opportunities to be sealed with a ring.

Now that she is gone, the only solace I can possibly have is first: her memory, second: the family who Nana created, third: pictures and videos that I can share and re-share even when facebook sharing becomes totes passé.

But this ring will continue on and see new things, carry on it’s own life observing new horizons and boundless possibility. I can regard this ring one of two ways: it outlives Nana, or it is Nana. I choose to think that Nana’s spirit is hovering over the diamonds’ mystique but that’s not the same as having her near. I can’t give the ring grilled cheeses for dinner.

I did not anticipate that Nana’s friendship to me would produce valuables. Nana was my valuable. But if I can’t have her, my intravenous honey drip, then it is the greatest comfort to have her distinctly precious memory wrapped around my finger.

I will not be taking the ring to peace corps. I will leave it in my parents’ safe.

To my Aunt Sherri, I can’t express my gratitude enough. I know that it was not an easy decision for you.

For me to have this gift makes all the difference as I remember her loss.