Several years ago, my husband Mike and I were the primary caretakers for an elderly woman named Jessie. My grandparents cared for her first, then my parents and then us. She was a tough ol’ gal who lived in a shanty by the sea with no running water, an ancient wood stove and a single pot that was used to cook everything from potatoes to spoiled socks. Jessie had married a man – Everett – who was her equal and companion in every way. He died many years before Jessie, but they spent a lifetime together before she found herself alone.
Jessie liked colouring books, rabbit stew and blue cardigans with 4 brown buttons up the front. Nothing else. Including Mike. That is until she found out they shared the same birthday – December 24. Sadly, Jessie grew up facing childhood trauma and adulthood poverty, a recipe for mistrust amidst other mental health challenges. However; she gradually allowed my family to tend to her basic survival needs and eventually loved us like we were her own kin. Collectively, we took her to medical appointments, trimmed her hair, washed her clothes, we even invited her for Christmas dinner the year Everett passed.
I inherited Jessie’s wedding band after her own passing. Worn down to a slender gold circle, weightless on my right-hand ring-finger, its simplicity was representative of my style. I wear it because it reminds me of the importance in looking out for others. When I lost this ring pool-side in Anaheim I was heartbroken…
I had taken my rings off and stuck them in my shirt pocket while swimming. When I picked up my shirt afterwards, both the gold ring and my silver wedding ring clinked to the grey cement ground. The wedding ring sparkled in the sun, obvious and in sight. The gold ring, nowhere to be found.
We searched for 3-days for the gold ring. Scouring on our hands and knees. Flashlights in cracks, overturning furniture, it had virtually vanished. How? Where? We checked in spider webs, we checked in drain pipes, we checked in places that made absolutely no sense for any object to find itself, but we simply couldn’t imagine where it went. Gold; evaporated.
In an effort to manage my guilt, I told myself “Jessie wants to stay poolside.” She had never been on vacation in her life and wanted to stay a little longer in the warm California sun before I whisked her back to the cold Canadian climate. She could watch the Disneyland fireworks from afar and smell the fresh fruits growing on the tropical trees that skirted the property. It was the only narrative I could muster that would make me feel okay having misplaced the only meaningful material thing that Jessie ever owned.
On our last day at the hotel, we took one last look. I was embarrassed by this point. OBVIOUSLY it’s gone. People “knew about us” at the hotel. There were only so many places it could possibly be and we had investigated beyond them all. The contrast of the gold on grey stone would be so apparent. LET IT GO!! There is zero reason to keep looking.
And then, unbelievably, just as we had turned to leave the hotel forever, the ring appeared in the MIDDLE of the ground. Sparkling, perfectly placed, plain sight. Appeared! I swear on my life. I have no explanation for this and it’s a story if told by someone else, I probably wouldn’t believe it. We stood in disbelief staring at the subtle gold fleck shimmering in the sun. It was clear as day, laying on the ground in the place we had been meticulously, frantically exploring for multiple days now. Mike asked me if I had planted the ring, scrambling for an explanation. We were both laughing in disbelief. It was the greatest magic trick ever, pulled from the depths of the afterlife.
We had to talk for a long time afterwards about how finding the ring made us feel. Our first witnessed “miracle” of sorts. There is no explanation. It disappeared, we looked for hours, it reappeared. I can’t justify it.
Mike and I both took this as a lesson in persistence. Keep going. Even when it feels ridiculous, pointless, even silly. We both work as full-time artists, in the middle of a recession. This is how life as a creative entrepreneur feels a lot of the time. You ask, what’s the point? It feels like it’s not working. The effort unnoticed. The rejection consistent. Why would I keep doing this? It’s impossible.
And then a golden glimmer catches your eye and you believe in magic again.
