Today I sat with my mother as she went through some of the jewels she inherited from Grandma… Going through memories of grand occasions and how she favoured ones over others and the ones she would never part from her body.
We went through the ones that are planned for my sister and to my niece and to my daughter (I know… I have got two sons and a young man I love as my own too… but Grandma was convinced that I am still going to have a daughter when she died)… And mum made her claims to which of HER jewels will go to whom just in case she snuffs it… Yeah… My mum insistes to have some strange conversations at the most strange times ever…
But that’s not what I’m here to talk about today anyway…
I think we leave a bit of ourselves in everything we touch… every thing we use… We leave a bit of our essence in everything we own…
So when we came to a couple of battered rings that belonged to my Grandfather, but has always for some strange reason been one of my favourite characters of a VERY intricate family history I more than immediately told her that I would like to keep them…
There is something about things that were owned by member of the oldest and gone genrations… a certain energy… every scratch and every crevice tells a story… and this piece in special has a lot of them… It was my Granddad’s Freemason ring… He never took it off his finger… Imagine all the history it can testify to… from the moment he put it in his finger to the moment he gave his last breath…
I know it sounds strange… But it does brings tears to my eyes… And the presence I can feel in these inanimate objects in some way soothes me…
It makes me certain that we do leave something behind after all… In everything we touch… and everything we change…
So make sure you touch someone today… That is the guarantee that you will live forever.
