I finally started wearing one piece of mom’s jewelery.
Actually, it was her mother‘s wedding ring, but it went to my mother when grandma died. I always wanted a ring like this; it’s a platinum eternity band, thin and diamond-circled. Not terribly flashy, and it is a perfect fit.
Oddly enough, nothing else in my mother’s surprisingly vast collection has much appeal. Not that she didn’t have a lot of beautiful pieces: rings, watches, necklaces, pins, and one very odd eight-karat gold bracelet (even the appraiser who came to price and inspect everything was puzzled about this one). But my taste and hers are very different. And frankly, our ring sizes were not even close. She was a slender size six and I’m a chunky size nine.
Looking at my mother’s jewelry is like looking at the history of her life. I can see her high school graduation in the string of pearls, the vacation to Mexico in the inlaid gold peso on a gold chain, our birthdays in the birthstone ring, the “X’s and O’s” bracelet we gave her as a Hanukkah present. She always looked good when she went out, dressed and accessorized just so. I can never recall a time when she went out in curlers, without makeup or wearing an unsuitable item of clothing. And the jewelry was a part of that overall look. Never too much, never too flashy, never mismatched with the outfit
Just like my mother; it was always just right for her.