My precious

I made R take me to the Jewelers on Sunday. Maybe if I had something I could look at on my finger I’ll feel better. He tried to put it off till sometime this week. I think he realized, as much of an imposition on him as it was, it would be good for my emotional health (he even offered to tie a piece of string on my finger as a surrogate tangible reminder). After all he’s not generally there when I have these discussions with various, less than supportive, people.
In the beginning I told everyone I wanted something art deco. My mom showed me her grandmothers ring. I loved it. And she made some joke about ~of course I did it was expensive.
When she offered it to me I was touched and thrilled at the prospect of art deco with personal history. Yet she kept saying things that made me think she didn’t want me to have it. Just to make sure I wasn’t crazy, I asked my sister and she didn’t think our mother wanted me to use it either. I wonder why she did that at all. Why offer it if you can’t part with it?
So the ring I have, it’s from his mother, from her mother, from her mother before her. It’s lovely and I don’t have to feel guilty, or that there are strings, or ulterior motives and hidden resentments.

So in 3 weeks I’ll have a ring. In the meantime people think I’m crazy showing off a piece of string saying, “Isn’t it lovely?”