United States

Child of God
Marine sister
English Country Dancer
Dessert enthusiast
Wind Chaser
Volleyball devotee
Movie quoter
Tea drinker
Cat lover

Message from Writer

' "Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet My unfailing love for you will not be shaken, nor My covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD.' ~ Isaiah 54:10

Proud USMC sister!


"Most people never meet their heroes;
I grew up with mine." ♥

“And the one good thing about being down here, is that we’ll save on funeral expenses.” ~ Puddleglum (The Silver Chair)

You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not. ~ Jodi Picoult

How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. ~ Winnie the Pooh


It Began With a Ring

January 27, 2018


It was a long time ago.
   So long I can hardly remember what happened. As I grow older, each day closer to my final breath, I wake up to find that my memory is fading away. A second disappears, then five, then a whole minute of memory. Gone. No explanation. No ransom note. Just a cold, hard wall. And before the final shreds disappear entirely, I'll piece together what I do remember, and stop reminiscing. 
   It began with an old ring. My grandmother's, if I remember correctly. One with impressive purple jewels set into a wide gold band. Though the description of it matters little, what happened to it leads to an interesting conclusion. 
   My family had gathered at an old military chapel to mourn the loss of my grandpa, who had died at a good age of around ninety. He was given a proper military funeral, and grandma had received the stars and stripes in return for his service in the United States Marine Corps. Twenty some-odd years of dedicated service. My eyes wet in pride at the service he and millions like him gave, and continue to give, to our country. God bless them. 
   Back to the story, I was thirty at the time, and as ambitious as a hungry raccoon. After the small reception in the chapel, I helped the rest of the family clean up. Suddenly, grandma started sobbing. 
   "I've lost my ring!" She kept exclaiming over and over, peering under tables and chairs. My younger sister, Allison, tried reassuring her. 
"Don't worry, grandma. We'll find it. When do you remember seeing it last?"
   "It was on my finger. Like always! I never take it off!" Grandma was getting awful flustered. 
"You just rest and we'll look for it." Mom stepped in, and gently pushed grandma down into a chair. 
   Abruptly, clean-up was exchanged for a treasure hunt. Who was I to complain? I would choose a jewelry hunt over clean-up any day.
   Grandma tried to remember where she had been, but was so upset that she couldn't think straight. I was optimistic. A big ole ring like that couldn't have sprouted legs and walked off. Least-wise off of grandma's finger. So we searched. And searched. And searched for three hours all over that little chapel. In the pews, the window sills, outside in the cemetery, in the stacked chairs. Everywhere. 
   "First William, now my wedding ring." Grandma sighed regretfully.
We all just stood there. Not even mom knew what to say. We had to pack up without the ring. 
   When I started up the van, I realized how chilly it was, and that I had forgotten my sweater in the chapel. 
"Be right back!" I promised, unbuckling my seat-belt. 
   The sanctuary was dark and cold as I entered, my steps echoing slightly on the creaky floorboards. Little light came through the stained-glass windows portraying Jesus' death and resurrection. The scent of roses lingered in the air. I inhaled deeply and grabbed my jacket, starting back to the sanctuary doors. When my shoe hit something small and hard by one of the pews, I thought I'd scream with relief.
   I picked up grandma's ring, and as I did, my eyes caught sight of a little lever standing out from the base of the pew. Knowing that Allison would clobber me for taking so long, I knelt down and pulled up on it. Part of the floorboard came up, and with it a cloud of dust. Very old dust. Praying it wasn't plague-carrying bacteria, I peered into the hole. Safely tucked away for who-knows-how-long, was a small bundle of papers. Letters, from the look of them. 
   Sticking grandma's ring into my pocket so as not to forget it, I unfolded a once-sealed envelope and scanned the contents. In my defense of my screwed reading of the letter, the lighting was dim at best, and I wasn't the best at reading scrawl script from the 1800's and earlier. But I made out the recipient and sender. The first made my eyes grow, and the second made me nearly ecstatic. 
   "General Washington" was at the heading, and for the signature was my last name. We found out later that my great-great-great-great (etc) grandpa had written to George Washington about the war. Just one officer to another.
   And that was how my family became a part of US history. 
I know this is cliche, but I was inspired, and it was late, so. ;) This is where my mind went. 


See History
  • January 27, 2018 - 10:04am (Now Viewing)

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  • AbigailSauble

    ;) :D It's called trying to add humor to a story. :P

    over 2 years ago
  • Deleted User

    I like the line, "Praying it wasn't plague-carrying bacteria." This is an interesting idea.

    over 2 years ago