Young Writers Society

As the years passed, those rings became even more precious. Sometimes when a memory of my grandfather would fade, I would look and hold my rings, and that memory would somehow grow stronger again. There were many times, however, when I would be looking at one of my rings, and a memory of my grandfather would feel so real that it hurt when I realized it was only a memory. I would never see my grandfather again. Often tears would come flooding down my cheeks when that realization would sink into my heart and mind.

Word began to spread of my unique collection, and more and more people began to show an interest in my rings. One day I received a letter from a man in a far away land requesting a loan to his museum for one of my rings. He was especially interested in the simple silver ring with the yellow gems, and asked to place this treasure on display for four years in his museum. Four years in a museum was a long time, but I thought it might be a good way to share my love of the rings to others. And after all, it would be returned in four years. I agreed and tried to visit as much as my job would allow. I would often hear stories from strangers who saw my ring at the museum and marveled at its brilliance and rarity. At first I felt jealous and would want to bring the ring back home again. But as the years flew by, I became proud when hearing the stories from strangers, knowing that was my ring and it would be back home in my possession in just one more year.

Then came the phone call. A man had seen my ring at the museum, and was excitedly telling me how remarkable and beautiful my ring was when I began to sense an urgency in his voice. He went on to tell me about his own ring. He described it as silver with delicate a single yellow gem, and then explained that his ring and the one in the museum were formed by the same jeweler from another land; they were crafted to complement each other. He offered to pay a price, but admitted he did not have nearly enough to pay what the cost would be for such a treasure. As we talked on the phone, I looked over at my remaining five rings. I didn't know what to say at first and there was a long pause. "Where are you from?" I finally asked.

"I am from that land where the jeweler crafted the rings. I am his grandson."

It was then that I realized this man would keep very good care of my ring. He would cherish it as much as I did and as much as Grandfather had. I felt confident that Grandfather would agree with my decision to let this man have the ring and in a way, return it to its origin. We made an agreement that he could purchase the ring after the four years were complete with the museum. I asked if I could see my ring once more and for a picture of the two rings together; he willingly agreed.

That year, knowing my ring would be under the care of a new owner in a faraway place, was very difficult for me. Each time I looked at my other rings, all I kept thinking about was the one that I was giving to that man. It made me miss the ring even more. I was comforted, however, knowing that it would be taken care of correctly, and that it would give another person great joy.

And then, just when the fourth year was nearly gone and I would once again see my ring for a brief time, a friend of mine came to visit me. He had always shared my love for the rings, and he began talking about the wooden ring with the red gems. He asked if he could hold it. I watched as he carefully tried it on his ring finger and smiled at the perfect fit. I had to admit that it looked good on his finger, but there was no way I was letting go of another one of my rings. Allowing my little silver ring to be under another's care was difficult enough; this wooden ring was staying here. My friend seemed to sense my uneasiness, and he gently slid the ring off his finger and handed it back to me. That was a relief, but it didn't last long when he said, "That ring would be perfect for my wedding band." I had almost forgotten that he was getting married in a few months. "May I see it again?" he said reaching out for the ring. I selfishly wanted to deny him the privilege and put it back safely in the case, but for some unknown reason, I handed it back to him. He turned it over on the palm of his hand admiring the detailed work and stunning red gem. "You know my fiancé's favorite color is red?"

No, I didn't know, nor did I care. I was keeping this one. He handed me back my ring, and we began talking about his upcoming wedding. Very cunningly he turned the conversation back to the ring. "It would be perfect, you know. And it's not like it will be far away from you. I see you nearly every day!"

He made some good points; I glanced over at my rings. What would Grandfather think of me giving our cherished possessions away? I remembered how willing Grandfather was to share his rings with me, and how pleased he was to see me enjoy them so much. I thought of the man who would be taking my silver ring away in just a few months and how happy he was to be getting it. I got up and walked to the display case. I looked at them and thought of Grandfather. Then I reached for the wooden ring. I looked at it carefully, and rubbed my finger across the red gem and the bumpy mountain. A tear came from nowhere and landed on the ring. I was surprised to learn the tear came from me. I knew I was giving another one of my rings away.

At first, each time I gave a ring away, I felt like I was losing a part of Grandfather. Just the thought of giving away a ring would invoke those feelings, and here I was about to give away two of my most cherished and prized possessions in the whole world. Could I even live without them?

As I placed the wooden ring into the hand of my friend, a calm came over me. Grandfather would be proud. Our love for these rings was being passed on to others, and that's what I think he wanted most of all. If there comes a day when another ring, or even all of my rings, are given away, I would still have Grandfather's memories and he will still be very dear to me. Letting the rings go, as much as I will miss them and know it will hurt, also brings a sense of peace in knowing others will be enjoying them and cherishing them as much as Grandfather and I have treasured them.And who knows? Maybe my rings will only be the start to their own collection of rare and beautiful rings!And hopefully I will be able to share in loving and treasuring those rings as well.