Mother’s ring returned to owner after being lost for 15 years
Published: June 28, 2007
Our sons and their families gave me a Mother’s ring for Mother’s Day ‘way back about 1990. The ring was yellow gold and had three stones: a garnet for Ralph’s January birthday; an amethyst for Paul’s birthday in February and an aquamarine for Tim’s birthday in March.
Unlike most women, I don’t care for a lot of jewelry, but I loved my Mother’s ring. I lost it twice during the time I had it. The first time occurred when I was helping turn a queen size mattress, but I found it under the bed within a few days. The second time I lost it, I had no earthly idea as to where or when I’d lost it. I was embarrassed and ashamed of losing it, and I never mentioned my loss to anyone except my husband.
This month, much to my surprise, my ring was returned to me. I was thrilled to regain it, but I was amazed at the memories it brought back to me — memories of Alice Ann, the orange cat who made her home with us, of the way I identified with her during one of the saddest times in my life and of all the mixed feelings I had during this time. If all this sounds confusing, let me start at the beginning.
On April 1, 1992, our youngest son, Paul, was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He and his wife, Abby, had returned to Oklahoma in 1990 after having lived in Baton Rouge, La., for 14 years. They made their home with us until they could build a house on our land. Until that diagnosis, we all had a marvelous time together. I’ll always remember those two years as among the happiest times in our lives.
The younger Milligan family brought with them two small dogs and one large orange cat called Alice Ann. Alice Ann had been a veritable kitten factory until her owners decided she had contributed enough to the feline population expansion and they had her spayed. Physically, I’m sure Alice Ann accepted the fact that she no longer had the job of providing for a litter of kittens, but on a more primitive level, she still thought of herself as a matriarch with hungry babies waiting to be fed. She had always been a tremendous hunter, and once or twice daily, she would come bounding through the doggy doors from the back steps to our deck, then on through a second doggy door from the deck into our den.
She always brought with her the latest catch from the fields or woods. She might come carrying a huge field rat, a mole or a gopher. She’d lay down her catch (Sometimes the prey was still alive.) and begin calling her non-existent kittens. In a low, throaty voice, she told her babies, “Come and see what Mama has for you. You’ll really like this.”
I’d watch Alice Ann for a moment or two and empathize with her, thinking “Once a mother, always a mother.” Then common sense would catch up with me, and I’d firmly pick her up, together with her prey, and put her outside, explaining that though her game offerings were very nice, I just didn’t want them in the house. Nobody was here to share. She’d have to eat all of it by herself.
I’m sure Alice Ann had always tried bringing inside her spoils from hunting expeditions, but I hadn’t identified with her so strongly in the past. Now, I knew exactly how she felt. She was mourning for the kittens that were grown and gone, and she was doing her motherly duty by bringing in food for them to share.
Mothers ought to be able to protect their offspring, I’d think. There ought to be some way that I, as a mother, could at least help Paul feel better. His cancer had metastasized in painful tumors all over his body. I couldn’t even hug him any more. It hurt him too much.
Paul died on Father’s Day, June 21, 1992 — two and a half months after he was diagnosed. Some time that spring or early summer, I lost my Mother’s ring. I didn’t mention my loss to Tim or Ralph. I did tell George and he commiserated with me, but we had no idea where to look for it. I think on an unconscious level, I figured I hadn’t done a very good job of mothering and that it was only fair that I lose my ring that identified me as a mother.
If enough time passes, we learn to live with loss, and though I still think about Paul a great deal, I could not honestly say I’d thought about my lost ring until last week. Then Ralph called to say, “Mom, did you lose your Mother’s ring?” I admitted that I had indeed lost it, and he brought it back to me on Easter.
What caused the missing ring to turn up after being gone 15 years?
It is a Milligan trait that we never get rid of anything so long as there is someone else in the family who can use it. In 1996, we bought a new car and asked Ralph if he’d like to have the1990 Pontiac Grand Prix that was still in good shape. He agreed to take it off our hands, and he kept it until this spring when he finally sold it.
The fellow who bought it lost his pocket knife under the car seats and he recruited his young daughter to help him look for it. It was she who unearthed my ring. He called Ralph who said, “Well, yes, my mom had a ring with three stones like that. I’ll ask her if she lost it.”
My Mother’s ring is back on my finger, held there firmly by a silver band made by my grandson. I’ve told my sons that now that I have my motherly identification back, I can revert to my former habits of being bossy, attempting to help them run their lives, and dispensing unsought advice. They grin in reply, indicating they hadn’t noticed that I’d ever stopped such behavior even for 15 years. I think again about Alice Ann and murmur, “Once a mother, always a mother.”
If you enjoyed this good news Subscribe to Good News Blog
Share this
To share this simply copy and paste one of the below URL's: