The day my mother died I was at the doctor's office. December 30, 1996. The first and last time I can ever remember having the flu.
A doctor from the nursing home called to say my mother would not make it to the evening. Did I know how to reach my brother, he asked? I was not first on the call list. My brother was the first to be called in case of emergency and the doctor could not find him. Only a few more hours, he told me. I thanked him and hung up.
I was surprised to be on the list at all. My mother had disowned me after my marriage to a black man seven years earlier. She never answered my letters and if it was my voice on the other end of the phone, she hung up.
Once, she screamed into the phone "Don't ever call here again."
And now she would be gone for good in just a few hours.
I ached at the thought of my mother dying alone. But that is what happened.
Several years later my brother whispered to me that he thought I was the rightful owner of my mother's platinum wedding band. It was a thin band with diamonds around it. As a child, I thought it was beautiful. My mother told me once that she bought it herself because my father never got around to buying her a wedding ring when they eloped.
My brother told me that as the only daughter, it should be mine. I knew better. As the only daughter I had been nothing but a disappointment to my mother. She would not have wanted me to have it.
A few years ago I made the pilgrimage to the cemetery for the first time with my brothers. I put the requisite stone on the headstone as my brother instructed me. It was a Jewish cemetery and that is the custom, he told me.
I left that day feeling a numbness I couldn't explain. I felt no grief or sadness. I felt nothing. I had spent years mourning the loss of a mother years before she died.
And now I was the bearer of her wedding ring. The only ring she owned, the ring she paid for herself. The ring that had been removed only after death.
It was the realization that it would always remain in my top drawer that finally caused my tears to flow.
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Comments
Not one word wasted.
Damn. I'm sorry.
Blessings
AtHomePilgrim, that is exactly right: the cruel rejection by a parent. Cruel is the right word.
wakingupslowly, I just appreciate you so much.
Robin, oh, you make me smile. You are so kind. Thanks very much for understanding.
Rita, I'm glad you stopped by. I appreciate you reading this and commenting.
Many thanks for stopping by, sweet Amanda.
tai, you stopped my heart for a minute when I read your words. Thank you for those words. We were a mismatched pair.
Owl, thanks for your words and thanks for calling me sister.
WSFTC, I think the wedding ring posts are the most painful to read. I'm so glad you read mine. Thanks for such kindness.
C.K. Dexter Haven, your words are like a balm. And you are right. The ring is just a symbol of estrangement and sadness. I wonder where it will end up... My daughter doesn't want it either.
Mimetalker, I think our experiences were different, but I know you must understand.
WalkAwayHappy, you make feel better with so few words. I appreciate you so much.
cartouche, I appreciate you stopping by. Thanks.
Lunchlady2, it is a mystery, isn't it? As a mother, I cannot think of a single thing that would separate me from my child. Thanks so much for reading and commenting.
sixtycandles, I appreciate you reading this. And thank you for calling me brave.
scanner, thanks for reading this. Yes, the ring stays in the drawer.
Tears, this fluid appearing in or flowing from the eye as the result of emotion, esp. grief.
This touched so deep I am not sure if I can reach that far. Perfection.
Your mother was wrong, so wrong. And her life was so much the less for it. But she chose it, you didn't. And I'm sorry for the loss she inflicted upon you.
Tremendous writing, Joan.
Rated.
Beautifully done.
I am so sorry that your mother rejected you. Keeping her ring in the drawer is an act of kindness on your part.
I know that feeling.
I remember my mother's wedding ring from childhood, but it has long since disappeared, even though she is still alive.
I don't think the ring even means anything to me anymore.
Well conveyed, and again, I'm sorry for this hardship for you.
xoxoxo,
Bellwether Vance, I agree with you. But I would like to encourage people with limited capacities for love and acceptance to not have children.
sparking, your comment touches me so deeply. Wow. Thank you.
Mary, you are right. I did become the mother I wanted to have. As far as my daughter taking the ring, I think she feels the way I do. That it has a really sad vibe.
Ann, I hope it is not weird to say, but thank you for crying. Yes, the call was surreal. I'm not sure I had even been told she was in a nursing home. Surreal.
sophieh, thanks for reading. Yes, so much loss.
iamsurly, thank you for reading and for the wow.
The Almighty Beckster, she is the only one who knew for sure. And I have the feeling she didn't even know.
Linda, thanks so much. I really appreciate your comments.
trilogy, thanks for reading. As mothers, it is incomprehensible, isn't it?
Kathy, oh yes, she was a very unhappy woman. Thanks.
This was heart wrenching to read but beautifully and sensitively done. Thank you for sharing something so challenging in such a moving way.
Rated and appreciated.
Scarlett, thanks for reading. No, my brother had put me on the list.
Robin, I really understand that.
spotted_mind, thank you for reading this.
full time daughter, It is sad. Thank you.
Dennis, I am glad you stopped by. Thank you for your kind comments.
Gail, thank you for your kind words. I have to write about painful things in very small doses.
The Barking Lot4, "Ghosts only haunt when we make space for them." Wow. That blew me away. Thank you for reading.
scupper, I appreciate you stopping by. Thank you.
Well-told, though painful.
Not sure any words suffice.
Damn!