I’m not sure when the first time I slipped the ring on my finger was. It just feels like it was always there. A bright and shiny little thing, text glittering against my fingers. How do we decide which objects are passed down, which ones are important? My grandmother was a hoarder, her house was filled with stuff, so why is this the only thing I have of hers? I used to love looking in her tea cabinets, filled with crystal animals. Hummuls peered down from the top of every surface, the living room was full of cat sculptures, and she hid her jewelry in the cornflakes. She always fed the neighborhood cats and kept my mom and my aunt’s room in their childhood condition. Visiting her house was like going on a treasure hunt. The first time I put on this ring must have been after she passed away, I was probably rifling through the contents of my mom’s closet drawers. One time, we sat down in the closet together and she showed me the contents of her old jewelry box. There was a turquoise butterfly ring, vintage lockets of strangers, and maybe the ring was somewhere beneath them all. It could have been any other kind of ring besides a wedding ring, as long as it was hers. Inside, in a cursive font it reads “14k G.L.S. to B.P.C. 4-1-61”. I would be surprised if my grandfather still had his, I am resentful because he never talks about her anymore. He acts like she never existed, but her ring glitters in the sunlight, and my mom smiles when she remembers both her kindness and cruelty.    

– Emmie Strang

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more