I remember being small and snuggling up to her lap, fingering her squishy chest and long gold necklace. She would give me a squeeze and shrug her shoulders as she smiled, and I knew I was safe and loved.
When I graduated from college she gave me a little wrapped box. Inside was her necklace. I fought tears of joy as I was filled with childhood memories of her wearing that necklace and was surprised to see that from my near-grown eyes, it really wasn’t as long as I had remembered. It was perfect.
I loved the weightiness of it in my hands. The tone of real gold against my tan, bony chest. The story behind it. Over the years I wore it every chance I got.
After her tragic death I felt like she had just slipped from my fingers.
If only I could squeeze her one more time.
Time passed… my boyfriend became my husband, we moved across the country, and then became parents. But through it all I had her necklace. Each time I put it on it made me feel beautiful and made me smile.
When we moved into our new house and began four months of renovations, wearing jewelry wasn’t very practical. When things finally settled down I opened my jewelry box and reached for my gold necklace, but it wasn’t there. I closed the box. Opened it again. But it still wasn’t there.
Overwhelmed by disbelief, anger, and sadness, I sobbed uncontrollably as I tore our bedroom apart looking for my necklace. When I couldn’t find it anywhere I called my contractor, although I knew in my heart that none of his workers had taken it.
Just like her, it had slipped through my fingers.
If only I could wear it one more time.