The Velveteen Ring

About 15 years ago, when Seth was five or six, 

he found this ring on his way home from daycare.  

He picked it up and presented it to me as a gift when he got home.  

I've had it ever since.

If I were to have it appraised, it would probably be worth exactly squat.

Unless the appraiser was me, in which case it would be worth bajillions.

A while back I was home for a visit and it came up in conversation; I told him I still had it. He was a bit embarrassed that I'd kept the ring all these years, but it didn't bother me one bit, and I told him so. I love the ring, and I cherish that memory. I'm so glad I was able to share that with him - to let him know what his love means to me.

In that same conversation I made him blush twice. I had also reminded him of the time he found me in the bathroom looking in the mirror, squeezing the pores on my nose (because my parents weren't willing to support my Biore Strips habit). He was amused by this odd teenage girl behavior, so he watched for a moment. His curiosity got the better of him and he offered to help, and since we were tight like that, I let him. He squeezed my nose, and was immediately both amazed and horrified when stuff came out of my pores. "Ohhhhh, gross!" he said, transfixed. (My apologies, dear Reader.)

But back to the ring.

I almost sold it on accident a few years ago.  Ryan and I had our first garage sale as husband and wife, and I wanted to get rid of a lot of old jewelry I didn't wear anymore. An older man brought a handful of rings up to the checkout table, and Seth's ring was among them. My stomach leaped to my throat when I saw it (though Seth was still with us at that point) and I hesitated. Was I willing to look ridiculous to this man by refusing to sell him this ring, dingy and dull, missing more rhinestones than it had left, whose black stone just barely resembled a heart? This ring which he had rightfully scooped up at our garage sale?  

My goodness, yes I was.

"Oh my gosh," I said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know this was in there." (and I picked it up)

"Well, I'm buying these for my daughter. She loves rings." He replied, motioning towards them, a little confused and no doubt wondering if I'd been hitting the sauce a little early that day.

"I can't sell you this one." I said, realizing how I must sound by now. "My brother gave it to me."

The man looked a little baffled by my last-minute backsies over a worthless ring. Surprisingly, he insisted that he still wanted it, that his daughter loved hearts, and so on. Maybe he thought I was wheeling-n-dealing, or that the stone was actually valuable. Whatever the reason, we went around like this for a while and I was afraid he would leave in a huff, or yell,. He didn't. He bought the other rings and left Seth's. He wasn't a very happy camper though. But it had been an accident; I have no idea how I overlooked it when setting out my jewelry.

Since Seth's death, I've tried to wear it several times. It still fits, but it's too powerful of a reminder that he's gone. Instead, it sits happily atop a pretty pebble in the nursery, right next to the glider where I nurse Jed and sing "Jesus Loves Me" (much to his delight). I'll have to move it when Jed learns to walk, since the wall collage is just above an end table. 

For now, I just like knowing it's there - a tangible reminder of love as I struggle with loss.