mom-mom’s jewelry drawer

The top left drawer of mom-mom’s bureau (her word for what I have always referred to as a dresser) has always held her jewelry collection. Pearls, gold chains, silver chains, charms, pins, cameo brooches, turquoise, bracelets, earrings, rings, bangles upon bangles… costume and classy, faux and authentic. But regardless of the worth of any of her pieces of jewelry, my sisters and I were always permitted to play in her jewelry drawer when we visited. Our favorite game to play was ‘gypsy fortune teller’… mostly because a lot of mom-mom’s costume jewelry was conducive to such a game. Also, the top right drawer of the bureau holds a rather extensive collection of silk scarves of various sizes. Combined with mom-mom’s silvery-glittery peasant-style blouse (that was always her word for it–I’d just call it a shirt or a top), and some sheer fabric used to make some unfinished curtains, we made quite convincing gypsies.

Being the oldest, I would get to be the gypsy first. In order to prepare for my role, I’d have to take off my dungarees (mom-mom’s word for blue jeans) because, of course, gypsies don’t wear dungarees. Then I’d wrap two or three curtains of the sheer fabric around my waist. Then mom-mom’s blouse would go on. Rooting through mom-mom’s makeup drawer always brought out very colorful shades of makeup–of course they looked subtle on her darker complexion, but on my sisters and I, they were just perfect for playing gypsy. Once properly made up, we would have to search through the scarves for one large enough to fold in a triangle and wrap around my waist–similar to Esmeralda from “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”; another to wrap around my hair in any one of various styles, but usually like a headband or bandanna (neckerchief, as mom-mom would say); and a third to drape over the yellow smiley face globe bank that we used as our crystal ball. And to finish the look, over to mom-mom’s jewelry drawer.

First would be the bangles–metal bracelets that banged together (hence bangles) and made a lovely little chiming sound. She had enough for at least ten on each arm. Then of course, rings–one for each finger. Earrings would have to come next. As many earrings as mom-mom owned, I’m pretty sure she had very few, if any, gold hoops–and of course gold hoops would be the ideal gypsy earrings. But we always managed to find something appropriate. And last but not least, a necklace was needed. Of all mom-mom’s jewelry, my favorite was always her turquoise jewelry. And of that, the piece d’resistance was the owl. On a very long silver chain, there hung a beautifully crafted silver owl; his eyes were emeralds (or at least some green imitation stone), and he had a belly made entirely of turquoise–a hemispherical hunk of it about an inch in diameter. I always felt as if those eyes were staring into me, and I really felt that whenever I wore it, I actually held mystical psychic powers. Slipping this last bit of jewelry over my head, and slipping on a pair of jeweled flip-flops, I’d trounce out to the living room, where a card table would be set up with two chairs, the “crystal ball” and a deck of playing cards. But my specialty was reading palms, and mom-mom was always my best customer. “You will live a long life,” I would always tell her, “and you will die of old age.”

9 years later…
Mom-mom is now 80 years old–her birthday was March 31st. But now mom-mom is in no condition to be playing gypsy. “Kidney failure,” the doctors told her. “Dialysis,” they said, would be necessary to keep her alive. After long consideration, she declined the dialysis, and began to die. Nobody wanted to tell me. I was away at school, finals were coming up… they didn’t want to worry me. They succeeded in not worrying me, because I had no idea whatsoever. I was home for nearly a week before going to visit her. I hadn’t realized how far she had deteriorated. She told me, she knew she was dying, and it was OK, because she had lived a long and full life, and she wasn’t afraid to die. “The only thing I regret,” she told me, with tears in her eyes, “is that I won’t ever see you get married. But you know I’ll be looking down on you. And you know that I’m so proud of you.” And of course, by this time, I was also in tears. It’s so surreal when someone sitting next to you is speaking to you as if they are already dead. That was Sunday, May 22nd.

Five days later, on Friday, pop-pop called at 10:30 at night. Mom-mom had wanted to sit in the easy chair in the living room. But mom-mom has no mobility, and no strength. Pop-pop needed help getting her from the easy chair, to the wheelchair, back to her room, and into the bed. More chatting with mom-mom… this time, happy chatter. I tried not to think of the fact that she was dying, and succeeded–at least for that night.

Saturday, I was over at her house, but because my two uncles (my dad’s brothers) were also there, I didn’t see her at all. The focus was more on her, saying good bye to her sons, but from what I understand, she had already begun to lose her mind–an effect none of us expected.
Sunday we all were over again for a big family dinner. It was the first time in about 8 years that all three brothers sat at the same dinner table. Such a shame that it took something like this… Back in mom-mom’s room, she was clearly confused. “Are we having a party?” she asked. “Yes mom, a party just for you. Everybody wanted to come see you.” And later, alone with my mom and my sister, “Why is everybody so sad?” My sister said she broke down right there. “Because our little girl is sick,” mom said. “Who?” … “You are.”
Monday I did not see her.
Monday night late pop-pop called. 2:30 am. Mom-mom, in her state of confusion, had tried to get out of bed, not realizing that she couldn’t walk, and fell on the floor. Pop-pop needed help getting her back in. I went over with my Uncle Kevin (who was staying with us) and we helped her back in bed, and soothed her. When pop-pop was cleaning her up, she was confused and worried that strangers were seeing her, so Uncle Kevin told her that it was just he and I. “Its Kevin and Jennifer, mummy. Its just your family.” Looking directly at me, straight into my face, she said, “Where’s Jennifer? Where’s Jennifer?” That was the last coherent thing I heard her say. We stayed with her until she calmed down enough to sleep, and returned home at about 4 am.

Now all she ever does is sleep. I sit by her bed while pop-pop runs errands. Sometimes watching TV, because she likes to hear the background noise. But the other day, I left the TV off, and just sat there. Then my eye caught the bureau drawer, and I opened it. Memories of childhood instantly came back. One by one, I took out each box and examined each piece of jewelry. Coming upon a beaded bracelet and matching earrings that I had made for her, my heart leaped into my throat. It was then that I realized that each piece of her jewelry had a story to tell–each piece had been obtained at some point in her life. Some of the stories may be as simple as “It was on sale at Macy’s.” But others, like my beaded bracelet, held special meaning. I found myself making up stories for each piece as I pulled it out, because mom-mom did love to tell her stories. The all-knowing owl was the only exception–he still holds his mystical power over me. After I’d gone through the entire drawer, I replaced everything as it