Today’s column is about a mother, a daughter and a dazzling pair of emerald earrings.
Mary and her daughter Katie, 9, have been shopping at a mall in Indianapolis, and three hours of browsing and walking have taken their toll. But their physical fatigue is overpowered by the thrill — akin to other “firsts” in life, such as a girl’s first love — of marching into a jewelry department at Kohl’s so Katie can buy her first piece of real gemstone jewelry.
You see, a double celebration is in the works: Christmas is but three days away; Katie’s 10th birthday is tomorrow. Like a puppy begging for a treat, Katie has pestered her mother daily: “When I turn 10, can I have a pair of real gemstone earrings?”
As their fingertips touch the top of the warm, glass display case, ancient light flashed from below reveals a treasure trove of earrings: all exquisite, all expensive, all possessing real gemstones cut and polished to perfection. Pulled by the power of the gems, Katie’s vivid imagination creates a movie where she, a princess, is playfully talking with each pair of earrings, are you the one for me? “Psst, Katie, over here, I’m the diamond pair in the center — buy me! I’ll be your BFF, best friend forever.” “No, no, Katie, don’t choose the diamond, buy me! I, the ruby-red garnet am the match for you.” It is the pair located at the top right corner which catches her eye. For the deep, sea-green emeralds, set in black onyx, are a match for Katie’s green eyes and raven black hair.
As mother and daughter leave the mall to return home to their farm in Illinois, Katie’s body glides with grace, her smile eternal, she is walking on air. Liquid-green eyes framed by shining raven hair are joined by new sparkles of green, now glittering from each ear. Almost 10, Katie is a princess returning home to her castle.
Westbound on U.S. 136, Mary sees the bridge spanning the Wabash River; her signal that only six miles remain in their trip home. While Katie sleeps, her mother glances over at her and reflects, “In eight years Katie will be off to college, then she will marry, then she will have children of her own — Woa! I’m not ready to be a grandmother! How can I slow down this march of time ...
Eastbound on U.S. 136, a 41-year-old man uses his teeth to twist off a bottle cap, which he spits out, so he can guzzle whiskey straight from the bottle. Blazing hot, it splashes down his gullet. Brain-buzzed on booze, reflexes dulled, he reaches down to snag his fallen pack of cigarettes, and as he does, his eyes leave the road.
With a clap of thunder, two cars collide, and the world slows down as time unwinds. Seconds stretch into hours, hours become centuries. One solitary emerald earring, briefly having touched the warmth of the living, is now ripped from flesh and flung high into the air. As it travels in an arc, on its final journey, it begins to tumble. Head over heels, green over black, black over dark, dark over light, light over death, death over life — and falls back to earth to land in a roadside ditch.
One year later: Mary’s arrival, 25 minutes late for her regular office visit, was my warning sign. When I see her, she had become a woman I’d never met. Her hair is matted, eyes vacant, mud is caked on the knees of her jeans. “What happened?” I ask. She replied, “You knew today was the one-year anniversary of Katie’s death, right?” “Yes,” I reply. Mary continued, “So, I went back to the crash scene, searching.” “What were you searching for,” I asked.
Mary extends her right hand, palm up, and opens her fingers. Nestled in her palm is an earring, which she gives to me. The earring, warmed by Mary’s body heat, is alive with green sparkles. Mary continues, “At the hospital that night, this one earring was given to me. The other one is still lost somewhere at the crash site. If I can unite them, complete the pair, I can start getting my life ...” Overcome by sorrow, Mary speaks slowly, “I’m the sole survivor — like a shipwrecked person, I clutch onto broken pieces of the ship’s hull, to keep me afloat, but with no anchor, I’m drifting, pretending to live. Does the man who killed us even know what he took away?”
“Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life” — Sophocles.
Every year, more than 55% of all serious or fatal car crashes are a result of drivers who were positive for drugs or alcohol (CNNHealth.com, 12/14/2022). I believe they all would be alive today if awareness of the devastation caused by drunk drivers was raised. As this awareness becomes a permanent part of our culture, the value of life — all life, would in turn be raised. The content of this article is for educational purposes only and should not be used as a substitute for treatment by a professional. The characters in this story are not real. Names and details have been changed to protect confidentiality.
This soon to be arriving holiday season, as you celebrate with family and friends, but before you drive, please hold Katie’s story inside your heart.
Dr. Richard Elghammer contributes his column each week to the Journal Review.
