My most treasured possession.

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What is your most treasured possession and why?

I was so excited about today’s writing prompt.

I knew instantly what I wanted to write about.

A story that I just love and I hope you will too.

When I was really little there was this ring.

It was a mood ring that was shaped like a pearl, on the most beautiful band.

I had one and my sister had one.

We were told that they were from my grandpa and we weren’t allowed to touch them.

He picked them up for us while driving across the country in his truck.

I remember staring at them in awe in my mom’s jewelry box waiting for the day I could wear it.

I remember thinking that it must have been the most valuable piece of jewelry.

Our parents wouldn’t let us have them because we were so small and it wouldn’t fit our fingers, they also didn’t want us to lose them.

I don’t blame them.

I forgot about the rings as I got older, until the day my grandpa passed away, in November of 2010.

We were at the house later that day and the rings came to mind.

I didn’t have anything from my grandpa, except the ring.

I asked my mom if I could have it and of course she said yes.

I ran to the room with my sister and we each picked ours out.

Of course, as fate was to have it, they fit perfectly.

I hardly ever took that thing off.

They never really changed moods, since they had been locked in a jewelry box for so many years. Mine had this beautiful hue of green, blue, pink and yellow. It’s almost as if it had always been those colors.

Around the pearl shaped stone was this woven design that held it up, along with four little pegs and a silver band.

I had never seen anything like it and received compliments everywhere I went.

Flash forward to February of 2011.

I was in Seattle at our usual Travelodge hotel with my track team from Western Oregon for a meet at the University of Washington.

My friends and I were going to go out to the U Village for dinner and for some reason I decided to leave my ring behind.

I must have taken it off for our afternoon run, because that was usually the only time I would take it off.

The next morning we were packing for the meet and I realized I didn’t have my ring.

I left it on the bedside table the night before and it was gone.

I looked everywhere panicking.

I tore apart my bed along with Janelle’s, looked under them and behind every piece of furniture.

It was gone.

The only thing I had from my grandpa.

Janelle was gone when I realized that I had lost it.

I didn’t tell her.

I didn’t tell anyone.

I was so ashamed and couldn’t handle the thought of telling anyone that I had lost it.

I called the hotel a few times to check and see if they had seen it by chance, nothing.

I was so upset with myself for a while.

Eventually I gave myself a break, and come to the conclusion that I would never see my ring again.

In November of 2012 I was scrolling through Etsy, shopping for rings just because.

No real reason, I just wanted to find a cute ring because it was the trend to wear lots of rings.

Then I saw it.

My ring.

It wasn’t a duplicate.

It wasn’t similar.

It was my ring.

I grabbed my debit card and purchased it for 21 dollars and 95 cents.

Right after I bought it I messaged the shop, asking where they found such a beautiful ring.

The woman’s shop was located in Spokane Washington, just four hours from the location where I lost my ring.

She said it was a vintage mood ring that a woman brought in a few months ago.

I couldn’t believe it.

It had to have been my ring.

Someone had to have found it at the hotel and kept it for some time. They must have sold it to this shop in Spokane.

It was my ring.

Believe it or not but this was my ring.

I told my parents and sister about the ring. How I had lost it a year ago in Seattle and how I found it on Etsy, they couldn’t believe it. They all knew it was the ring.

My ring.

I wore it right away and refused to take it off.

Eventually I did.

It sat right by my bed safe and away from danger.

I had it as I walked down the aisle at my wedding as my something old.

And now, it’s starting to show its age.

The band has cracked at the bottom and I can’t wear it anymore.

I’ve looked into getting it fixed but I’m afraid that something might happen to it and make it worse.

No matter what though, it’s my ring.

My ring that my grandpa gave to me when I was little.

That on the saddest day of my life, fit perfectly when I put it on after so many years of admiring it.

That I lost in Seattle.

And found its way back to me a year later.

I love it dearly and it’s by far my most treasured possession.

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