My Golden Lady

She would have been eighty today.  I was drawn to my jewelry box to find the necklace I played with whenever we cuddled that fit snugly around her neck.  It was mine now.   I held it in my hand hoping that somehow I would be able to feel her.  An antique golden face of a young woman smiling.  It had belonged to someone else before her and I was always intrigued by its hidden history.  We created wonderful scenarios of its origin and settled on the possibility that it was crafted by an artisan of the woman that first wore it. 

"She was petite, just like you, " she would say.   She would then give me a squeeze and we would follow the golden lady's history.   "Perhaps she gave it to her daughter when she got married and it passed through the family until it mysteriously was lost or stolen."  We created many tales about the golden lady over the years.   

Not long after my mother passed I opened a drawer in the bathroom looking for some hand cream.   There it was.  The golden lady was smiling at me.     I couldn't bring myself to wear the necklace for more that a day or two because it felt heavy and sad on my neck.  Today, almost a year later,  I put it on and it felt right. She patiently waited for me.  It was then I decided it was time to claim her and to keep both of their stories alive.