cocktail ring.
My heart took a picture.
Years went by. In 2009, Mother gave me another jewelry-inspired gift for Christmas. She had gone to a holiday bizarre and spotted a Christmas tree made from old pieces of jewelry, set in a shadow box. “I knew you’d love it,” she said. “You’ve always had a thing for old jewelry.”
I could hardly believe my eyes. For one, Mother had left the price tag on the back, which was quite unlike her. Also unlike her was the amount of the gift. Mother was always—if nothing else—frugal. But I also was taken by the sheer beauty of the gift. “I’m going to display it all year long,” I told her. “You know how I feel about Christmas in every room of the house.”
And, true to my word, that old-jewelry-Christmas-tree-in-a-shadow-box stands proudly on the sheet music rest of my piano. I dust it often, I “windex” it at least once a month, but mostly I hold it near and dear to my heart, Mother’s last Christmas gift to me.
Mother is never far away, really. I see her as I pass by the piano and she winks at me from my left ring finger where I have transferred her mother’s engagement ring, what with my own hands now swollen with arthritis.
One day, I’ll put the ring in a Christmas-inspired candle tin … and place it under the tree for my daughter. And, in this fine way, Mother’s gift will live on.
Eva Marie Everson is the bestselling, award-winning author of more than 30 books, both fiction and nonfiction. She is the president of Word Weavers International and the director of Florida Christian Writers Conference. She and her husband make their home in Central Florida.
Photo c. SonStudios