I didn’t know her very well. In fact, we had only been in each other’s company twice, and the first time was right before my wedding day. I think had I met her earlier in our lives we would have been good friends. Fun loving and adventurous, Shirley’s heart was almost as big as she was. It was getting close enough to hear it’s beating that proved to be a little trickier than anticipated.
She was smaller than small, tinier than a 14 year old boy. Her voice was deep and gravelly, the true sign of a smoker, and the aroma of tobacco smoke permeated everything she wore, even defying the perfectly coiffed hairdo. Eyes steely blue and determined, I had come across this personality before – it was my father all over again, a gentle soul who loved cigarettes and would not stop smoking, even though they knew the risks were great.
She was my husband’s stepmother, and even though they had not spoken for a while, it was a grand homecoming when he called to tell her he was getting married “right in the middle of the pig roast….” She laughed and said she would be there, as his joy was contagious. Youth, misunderstanding and anguish sometimes stand in the way of forming deeper relationships, this was a perfect opportunity for the both of them to connect again.
After the first wedding visit, she was coerced into coming back out “to the country” and to enjoy the summer breezes wafting off the Lake. It was a pleasurable visit and a lot of memories were discussed, escapades of my husband’s youth made live, all new to me and a fond reminiscence for them. The quiet of the day, with only the sounds of the waves in the background, our friendship was cemented. Our eyes locked and the unspoken message was heard loud and clear: We are all right, all of us. We are all right.
Shirley loved costume jewelry and was quite an avid television and internet shopper. She especially liked cubic zirconium, as the illusion of diamonds and gems fascinated her. I had mentioned I was still waiting for my diamond engagement ring, but technically I shouldn’t expect one because my beloved has never really “asked” me to marry him. He gave me instead a three tiered REAL diamond necklace on our first Christmas, to mark our time together murmuring “…for yesterday, today and tomorrow” in my ear as he fastened the clasp around my neck.
Shirley laughed and said “Well, I don’t see why not; you’re pretty engaging.” and she guffawed loudly at her own joke, with her deep, throaty laugh, while taking another puff of her Lucky Strikes. Some how we ended up married, but I never did really expect a diamond ring, but that doesn’t stop me from ribbing him with the notion now and then.
Lung cancer comes hard and quick, and when the diagnosis is made there isn’t a lot time to think about it. Such as it was for Shirley, who chose not to share the sentence with anyone.
Diagnosed in November, she was gone in April.
Upon distributing her belongings between her other children and my husband, we came upon her special box of jewelry. A veritable treasure chest of jewels, it contained dozens and dozens of earring and watches, necklaces and pins, purchased and admired over the years.
Opening up the last of the boxes, I saw her trove of rings; sparkling diamonds and rubies, colorful jade and glass. To the untrained eye, they looked as real as any gems unearthed from a jeweler’s case. I went through them, one by one, imaging her joy and appreciating the beauty she must have felt when trying them on. I closed the lid when I was finished, moving to other areas of the house to see what I could do to help.
Imagine my surprise when I turned to find her daughter-in-law, smiling a sad smile of acceptance and resolve, handing to me the jewelry box of gemstones.
“Take them” she said in a voice that offered no negotiation.
“She would have wanted you to have them.”
The weather for this week is bleak and dreary. A winter’s storm watch predicted in the midst of April blossoms seems abnormal and almost cruel. But while I sit at the kitchen table and organize my newfound treasures, I am oblivious to the starkness of this cold and wet Sunday afternoon.
The sparkling diamonds are a testament to the beauty of one’s imagination and the healing power of acceptance. I will wear them proudly, one by one as the occasion permits.
If asked when I came into such an inheritance of cash to be able to afford such a dazzling array of gems, I will smile and raise my eyes to heaven, knowing she is watching and smiling herself.
No one need know they are not the real things. To Shirley, they were as real as any diamonds found off the coast of Africa; her spirit of the gemstones will shine on forever brightly on me.
