I wonder where my ring is...

My grandfather was one of my favorite people in the entire world.  I adored him.  He adored me and called me "Stink Cheese."  Shortly before my tenth birthday (at least, I think it was my tenth), I confided something in him.


I suppose I had just recently learned about birthstones and figured out that mine was the diamond.  So, I said to my grandfather, "You know, I am never going to have my birthstone until I am all grown up."
"Why?" he asked.
"Well, my birthstone is a diamond, and I don't suppose I'll have one until I'm a grown lady and get engaged."


I honestly wasn't fishing.  I was just sharing a thought that was rattling about in my little girl brain.  I had no idea that my grandfather would ever consider buying me a diamond.  I assumed they were super-expensive.


On my birthday as Grandpa handed me a small wrapped package, Grandma declared that this was all his doing.  I opened the box and found another box inside....and another inside of that.  I don't remember how many boxes I opened before I came to a very, very small box.  Inside was a ring with a yellow gold band and a tiny diamond in the center of a square white gold setting.  It was nothing more than a diamond chip, but it might as well have been 10 carats.


I can't begin to describe how precious that ring was to me, especially when my grandfather died just before my twelfth birthday.  I only wore it for special occasions.  As I grew, I had to begin wearing it on my pinkie finger.  I never put it on without thinking of him and the special bond he and I had shared during my early years.


When I was about eighteen and living in the dormitory of a nursing school in the Chicago area, a woman came into the dorm and went from room to room stealing items of value.  Many of the students lost money.  From me she took my dearest personal possession....my tiny diamond ring.  She apparently was expert at scanning a jewelry box and picking out items of value.  She also took a locket that had special family meaning, but it was the loss of the ring that broke my heart.


After my mother passed away, and I was given her ring, my loss came back to me.  I thought how incredible it would have been to be able to wear my own engagement ring, my mother's ring, and my grandfather's gift.  It would have been a visual reminder of  the continuity of family love.


I have no idea why I thought about the ring this morning, but I am wondering where it is.  I hope it hasn't been lost between floor boards or accidentally discarded.  I hope some young girl is actually wearing it and enjoying it.  I hope that it means more to her than the monetary value, and that when she looks at it, she thinks of the person who gave it to her with great love.