I visited my local jeweler today because the stone in the ring he’d created recently seemed loose. He agreed that it was. In addition, he offered to clean all the rings I’d worn into his shop, a service he does each time I visit him.
This time I’d worn the diamond that my stepfather gave my mother when they became engaged. It’s a half-carat stone in a Tiffany setting, not the largest of my ring collection, but still certainly one to treasure. Chuck cleaned it and then studied the diamond under magnification.
“That’s a beautiful stone,” he said; and he should know. “There’s also an inscription on the band.”
I hadn’t known this before, so I asked that he tell me what it said. “It’s worn,” he said. “But I’ll try.” It took a couple tries, the final one under increased magnification.
“It says ‘Ollie-Pat 1967,” Chuck finally deciphered. I smiled. It was shorthand for the fact that my stepfather Ollie and my mother Pat married in 1967, forty years ago. Since then, both have passed away; and I’m left with only memories, like the diamond he gave her.
Yet, at this time of year, it seems like a special gift that Chuck could read the engraving inside the band enclosing the diamond. It makes me feel closer to my mother and stepfather. So I say, “Merry Christmas Ollie and Pat,” wherever you are!
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