All That Glitters by Diane Funston

I have my grandfather’s ruby ring. It is wrapped in a tiny manilla envelope, tucked in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Close by while I sleep. It keeps company with five silver soup spoons, each engraved with the letter “H” for Hochmuth. My great-uncle Herb did the engraving; he was a jeweler. My old harmonica, or mouth-organ as we called it, is also in this drawer. These treasures, along with some cameos from my great-grandmother, and some German bibles and hymn books are most of what remains from my long past.

I received the ruby ring from a family friend a of couple of years ago, along with the spoons. He told me my mother sold all the rest of the family jewelry when the price of gold was high. He managed to grab what he could before she sold those too. My mother never mentioned selling the items. I was supposed to inherit the rings: the wedding rings from my grandparents, my grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s engagement diamonds, my great-grandmother’s aquamarine ring, along with various gold cross necklaces, and gold chains with charms that said I Am A Lutheran engraved on them. 

  I remember the thickness of my grandfather's wedding band. It was plain simple gold. Solid and present, like he was. Substantial, probably worth the most at the Cash for Gold place. My grandmother's rings were also simple. She inherited some rings from her relatives, a couple encrusted with tiny diamond chips. Those were in the mix too, the unremarkable jewels unimportant, just the gold that paid out. My great-grandmother's aquamarine birthstone really hurt also. Aquamarine means Ocean Water, as clear and delicate a blue as can be. The stone always fascinated me. I was very close to my great-grandmother, walked to her house from school once a week to help her with her dusting.

  Hearing about the sale surprised me. I felt it deep inside in some hollow place, a cavern of memories I keep roped off, closed even to me. I remembered sitting on my grandmother’s lap, hearing her tell me that I would have her jewelry one day. She left my life when I was fifteen. I first felt the mournful growl of my cavern-place after I was told of her terminal cancer. The mouth of that cave within has eaten all of my loss since then. It has grown quite large throughout the years. Like every cave, it weeps.