Rings

After the Shabbos meals ended, as I cleared the dining room table, my husband would return all the extra chairs to the kitchen before I swept the floor. I was always amused as I watched him do it. Arranging the chairs in a single column, he would push them all at once into the kitchen. Each chair pushed the one in front of it. The chairs didn't stay perfectly aligned as they scraped their way along the tiled floors. Sometimes, a grandchild or two, big or small, would hop on for the ride. He kept nudging them slowly until the entire row was in the kitchen. Then he picked up each chair and without a sound placed them gently around the kitchen table. When I set up this choo choo train of chairs I can feel him by my side.  And I am humored once again at the chain reaction he created, lasting long after he is gone.    

It started with my ring. The ring I chose for our first anniversary. Eli and I went together to the jewelry store at Lawrence Plaza. I chose a gold ring with a few tiny diamond chips on either side of an opal. The opal fell out after Eli died and finally I decided to fix it. The setting didn’t last long. The stone fell out just a few weeks later. The surprised jeweler replaced the opal I had lost. A week later it fell out again. I gave up and put the ring away. 

Next, one of my earrings went missing. I noticed that I was only wearing one when I came home that day. It was a small thin silver twisted loop. I remember buying them and embracing something bigger than I was used to. Eli loved earrings, huge loops, and dangling earrings, like his mother wore. I liked studs that rested on my ears. I got used to the new earrings and began to like them too. Eli loved when I wore them but I'd always take off my jewelry as soon as we came home. 

Every time I went to the cemetery I would think of our lunch date and wear the small loops we bought together. 

And now it’s my diamond. And this time it hurts. After Eli died I decided that I would never remove my wedding and engagement rings. Not when I clean, or sleep, or wash the dishes, or knead the Challah dough. For the last couple of months I began to worry about losing my diamond.  I had trusted the setting for so long. I dreamed of Eli the night before I lost the diamond. He told me that I was spending too much time preparing the salads for Shabbat and it was now too late to make the Challahs. Friday night as I waited for my son Chasky to cut the Challah I played with my wedding rings. Something felt sharp. I looked down and saw the diamond was missing. Shocked, I quietly waited for my piece of Challah. I waited a few minutes before I could tell everyone. After the meal I asked the children not to sweep the floor. I lined up all the kitchen chairs in a row and waited for the pain to lessen.