I can always find my mom in that old jewelry box, the one I keep on my dresser. She couldn’t take her jewelry with her, not even her wedding ring. She had to leave it all with me. Most is what she called costume jewelry—not valuable but fun to wear. Last Sunday I opened the box and immediately spotted the dream-catcher earrings which I had given her when I was in college. I put them on. I looked in the mirror. You know, I’m starting to look like her. I decided that’s not a bad thing.
This morning I rummaged through the pins, necklaces, earrings, bracelets and necklaces, finally taking a brightly-colored necklace out of the box. There couldn’t be anything more cheerful to wear. The large beads are yellow, pink, green and bright blue. A large yellow pendant, about two inches long, sits in the middle. It’s shaped like a cactus with narrow blue, pink and green stripes. Four other smaller pendants are spaced evenly among the beads: a green and yellow star, a pink snake, a blue quarter moon, and a piece of yellow fruit, could be a banana or a yellow squash.
I have no idea where she got that necklace. She never told me. And now there’s no way to find out. When I had the chance to ask her, I didn’t. I remember that day. I was holding the necklace in my hand. I didn’t ask her about it. I wanted to think that there would always be time to ask.