When I was a young girl I loved jewelry. Rings in particular. I collected them. I'm sure I had conversations with my grandmother and aunt and one wonderful day my Aunt Teresa gave me a very special gift. A ruby ring. I don't specifically remember its origin, but I do know it was special to her. When I received it I knew I better take good care of it.
Although I was a very responsible kid, I was still immature at around ten years of age.
I lost it.
I didn't even remember losing it. I just knew I didn't know where it was.
Years went by. Quite a few years.
I grew up in Northwest New Jersey on almost an acre of land that was surrounded by woods, so it seemed as though all this land, woods and hills, was ours to personally explore. My dad loved the property and dug up gardens and planted trees and pursued other construction projects over the years. We also had a septic tank that needed attention from time to time... and an above-ground pool.
Years later, one day when dad was out digging, he came into the house with a discovery. I still vividly remember him showing me a ring that was caked with dirt. He asked me if it meant anything to me and if I'd seen it before.
I was overjoyed! Yes it was very familiar and was the ring I lost years before!
I still have this ring today. Decades later.
A special heirloom.