Life Lessons From The Jewelry Box

When I was a little girl, I spent sick days going through my mother’s jewelry box. I’d sit on her bed and try on necklaces and clip-on earrings. Then I’d hold up her silver hand mirror to see how they looked, always imagining myself at some fancy affair.

I’ve had more sick days this year than ever, and sometimes I’ll sit on my bed with my jewelry box and do the very same thing. So a few weeks ago, while I was mesmerized in this childhood activity, I found a necklace that my mom had given me about twenty years ago. At the end of the delicate gold chain was a tiny teardrop-shaped diamond. I’ve never worn it because I’ve been afraid of losing it.

I put it on and looked in the mirror. It hung about an inch below the scar on my neck that I got in January after pretty serious spinal cord surgery. I always thought I was a firm believer that life is short and we shouldn’t need to have a life-altering illness in order to learn to enjoy the good things. But I guess those were just words I’d say without really meaning them, because as usual, I unhooked the necklace and put it back in its blue velvet box. 

But then I put it back on. I was wearing my old torn gray tee shirt and the elegance of the diamond was quite a contrast. But oddly, I didn’t want to take it off. I thought, “What’s the point of keeping this in a box all my life?” My typical self replied, “What if you lose it?” But then I answered, “Is it better to leave it tucked away forever?”

So I kept it on. In only a little over an hour I reached around my neck and felt that the necklace was gone. I traced my steps with a flashlight. Funny – even though my mom’s been gone for seven years my first thought was, “She’d be so angry at me.” I berated myself for not making sure the chain was secure. “Well that was a great life lesson,” I thought with sarcasm.

I don’t think of myself as a religious person, especially in terms of an afterlife, but it was almost as if my mother was there with me, teaching me a final lesson. I imagined her saying, “I didn’t give you the necklace to keep in a box. I gave it to you to wear and enjoy.”

“But I lost it.”

“How did it feel when you wore it?”

“Wonderful at first, but then I felt guilty I think, and decadent. I wasn’t even going anywhere special.”

“That makes me unhappy. I want you to remember how wonderful it felt, how beautiful it looked, even though it was near your scar. I want you to enjoy the good things while you have them, if only for an hour.”

And as if it was a miracle, at that very moment I looked down at the carpet and saw the sparkling diamond. I found another chain in my jewelry box, made sure the clasp was secure, and put the necklace back on.

Before bed that night, my husband said, “Aren’t you going to take it off?”

I held the diamond protectively, knowing I will savor its beauty  . . .  for however long it may last. “No. I’m never going to take it off.”