It started in 1955, when my mother put her high school ring on her finger. It was beautiful and represented that time of her life. When I entered high school, my mom passed her ring down to me. Then I passed it down to my younger sister. After Amy graduated, the ring made its way back to me again. It sat in my jewelry box for years.
When my daughter entered her high school years, I pulled the ring out and gave it to her to wear. And when Sammy graduated, it once again found its way back to me. But this time, I didn’t put it back in my jewelry box. I took it to the jeweler.
I had it dipped in white gold and sized it for my pinkie finger. You see, I recognized that something so beautiful and meaningful didn’t belong in a box. It should be worn and celebrated daily. Will I pass it on someday? Maybe. But until that day I will wear the beautiful ring every day and remember my mother each time I look at that finger.