I remember the dark green jade bracelet around my right wrist – heavy, cumbersome on my 10 year old wrist. I remember tripping, falling, and my bracelet hitting the ground, a loud thud, and it breaks into three pieces. I remember relief.
There was that gold charm bracelet my mother bought me. I was 13, or 14. At an age where jewelry was welcomed, not cumbersome. I loved it. It was whimsical, the charms moving with me. I wore it all the time. I lost it. Of course. After a week. I never told my mother. I don’t think she noticed me enough to realise the missing bracelet.
My wedding band is gone. Gone forever. I don’t know when exactly it disappeared. I only remember the last time I wore it – heavily pregnant with my second child, early 2012. Dinner at an Italian restaurant with my husband, my sister and her husband. No recollection of it after – did I take it off my swollen finger when I washed my hands? (Why did I insist on wearing it when it was already too tight?) It was not in the ring box when I looked next. Probably in 2013. Looked everywhere. It is gone. I feel surprisingly unattached to it. My plain, platinum band. My husband and I now match – neither of us wear a wedding band. No tangible ‘evidence’ as to our married status.
Don’t trust me with your gems.
This is a stream-of-consciousness post, where I free write for 5 minutes, no editing or censoring, during or after.