LEDESMABABY

When I look at this silver, metal, diamond engagement ring that dangles on a long, silver chain, I get a stomach full of emotions. I feel honored and grateful, yet sad and angry at the same time. Why do I feel this way over a beautiful diamond ring?

I look at this ring and see her smile, her freshly painted nails, her hair and makeup done, I smell her perfume, I hear her contagious, high-pitched laugh, I hear her thick Spanish accent, I feel her cold hands wrapping mine with all her love, and I immediately go back to that dark place. This ring can somehow bring me a sense of piece, even through the darkness.

This ring, that I have never worn, nor will ever wear on my finger, sits on a long silver chain that I only wear as a necklace on special occasions. When I do, it hides under my shirt, lying cold on my chest.

The smell of the metal rises up into my nose, but I don’t smell the metal, I smell her perfume. Her signature perfume that smells like an old lady that I can never get used to. But now, I smell it and can’t help but smile with tears in my eyes. I smile and see her in her bedroom, her bedroom that was too big for just herself, sitting at her brown wooden vanity with hot curlers in her hair and spraying her perfume on her neck. I can smell the perfume that she used to spray on her neck. No matter how I believe her perfume smells, I will never forget it, because forgetting that smell is like I would be forgetting her.

This ring allows me to hear her voice again, the voice I thought was starting to fade away, but comes back. I hear the stories of her childhood in Mexico she would always tell me. I hear her telling me advice about school, life, but most of all, boys. She knew what I was looking for and always told me to be patient but keep looking because he is out there.

I hear her laugh, her beautiful, contagious, high-pitched laugh that everyone always talks about. Even just thinking about her laugh can make me smile. These are the sounds I try to listen to instead of the sad funeral music, or even the repeated “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I know that is just what you say to someone who has lost a loved one, but hearing it be said to you is a different feeling. I try to remember the feeling of her always cold, small, wrinkly hands holding mine and telling me everything will be okay.

The taste of this ring is just cold metal, but I get the memories of her and I eating vanilla wafers watching Mexican soap operas, “telenovelas.” She had the biggest sweet tooth and that is something her and I shared.

I taste the chicken and white rice which happened to be her favorite meal. I taste the wrapped strawberry candies that she would leave out for guests that would come visit her, sometimes the candy was stale, but people would still eat it because it would make her happy. I taste the orange sorbet that we would eat after a Sunday night dinner watching football. I taste the lemon cream filled sugar cookies that she would store as many boxes as possible in her cupboard for times she would get her random craving for something sweet.

This ring also reminds me of my name and where my name came from. My name came from the person who gave this beautiful ring to my grandmother. My step-grandfather, who I never had the pleasure of meeting and hear many great stories about. I am named after him which makes this ring more special. I remember sitting on the couch with my grandmother one evening watching telenovelas and she told me the ring is mine when I turn eighteen. My eighteenth birthday came and the ring was not given. I was devastated, but knew her memory wasn’t the best so I figured she just forgot.

The week she passed was difficult and the day before the services my mom handed me the ring saying, “this belongs to you.” I went to the bathroom in the funeral home, locked the door and cried before the rosary started. I spent the whole week, maybe even the whole month, crying. I remember going home the night of the burial, I ran to my room, leaned over my bed, and cried, uncontrollably. I quickly unstrapped my bra and took it off because I felt like it was tightening around me more and more, I felt like I was suffocating. It felt as if I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t breathe. I felt like the walls in my room were caving in on me. All I wanted to do was scream.

I knew the day she died that my life would never be the same. I fell into what felt like a dark hole. I felt lonely and afraid of what was going to happen next. I had lost the most important person in my life and I was and still am scared of losing someone else important to me. It has taken me three years to accept that she is gone. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned to try to outweigh the sadness with all of the good memories I have of my grandmother, which is why I choose now to look at this beautiful, silver, diamond ring and smile.

I wear this ring around my neck with honor and gratefulness. Honored that I share my name with my grandfather and grateful for all of the times I shared with my grandmother. I have come out of that dark hole, slowly but surely, with the help of this ring, which sounds weird to think about, but I have chosen to see the good rather than the bad.