What’s the oldest things you’re wearing today?
Sometimes, when I look at this ring, my heart hurts, but I feel joy from those same memories on other days. It is the ring I gave Misha when she was four years old with her birthstone, a garnet, and tiny diamond chips. I remember her delight in having a ‘big girl ring’ and how much she loved it. I found it in a jewelry box left behind after her death. I was surprised it fit my finger, yet my mom had tiny hands, and I do too.
From this same jewelry box are gold earrings that I wear with hearts. I feel closer to her when I have something of hers touching my skin now that she is gone. She had a lot of beautiful jewelry that went missing after her death. Her roommates took her things. It caused me distress because I knew that it was a robbery. I had one say to me that she has the cross that was given to her at her first communion, again with the same birthstones, and I have seen photos of her wearing it. I was so broken at the time of her death I didn’t fight for her things and accepted these thefts. But now I wish I had them to give to my granddaughter; her baby was two years old when she died.
Amaya is 16 now. I wish a lot of things for her. I wish I had the wedding dress I married Misha’s father in. I wish I had saved more of my designer clothes for Amaya. I wish I had the christening gown I gave Misha when she was pregnant. I bought it in Ireland. These things are gone, and I don’t know where.
My mother was so good at saving things for me. I have my old Barbies and even a Skipper and Ken doll. They are worn from use as I let everyone play with them through the years. I have albums of pictures in the basement, yet I have not looked at them for years. I want to organize them, but the hurt comes back, and I suppress it by not sorting through everything. Someday I will. I know that I have a lot to say, and I need to put all of my blogs together into a book.
Old things bring back memories, and memories bring back sadness, which causes me to stifle my feelings. I know I will someday sit here and write everything down—every feeling, every memory, all of my simple thoughts, my complicated thoughts—everything. It will be cathartic. It will be an autobiography and a memorial, all in one book. It will be years of my life coming together, represented by many old things that are left behind.
Mother’s Day brings me to a dark place where I feel incomplete because Misha isn’t here. I will start putting all of my blogs together soon. I will have a name for my book: She Left to Begin Again. I will describe how I have found peace in Colombia while telling my and Misha’s stories together. I promise that is on my agenda. While I am wearing her old things, I wish she was still here with me.
Hummings from Paradise 