“Did you ever love me?” I asked.
He blinked. “There is a probability I did at some point, but I don’t, now.”
His words were exacting. Clinical. Cold.
I had walled up my feelings for him over the better part of a year until that very moment, when it was far too late. I’d been afraid of drawing attention to the obvious imbalance of emotion between us. But here it was, striking me in the face with each of his stony words.
Then, like so much dust in the wind, he was gone. I never saw him again.
I was wearing this necklace (above, right) that day as our relationship crumbled. (Fitting, don’t you think?) I had stumbled upon it days earlier at Simply Sterling in Broomfield. It was love at first sight.
But enamored as I was with that cobbled creation, I couldn’t bear to look at it. It served to remind me of that crushing day and of the fault I bore.
I carefully buried the necklace in my jewelry box as I mourned our uncoupling. There it stayed for years, waiting to again glint in the sunlight of happier days.
In the meantime, I added to my pile of stone-patterned silver. My broken heart healed. I got married and gave birth to the most adorable nugget this side of anywhere.
I even found a similarly pebbled pendant, bearing a bright red stone, while on vacation with my now-husband, just a month before we married.
Rocks are formed one of three ways: through cooling and solidification of melted rock, when soil and other materials on the Earth’s surface are eroded and finally settle down into layers of sediment or as the result of extreme environmental pressure. One could say I’ve undergone similar changes since the years-ago cooling of that relationship.
Only last weekend did I finally unearth that first necklace. It is no longer synonymous with a broken heart, cracks in my psyche or with failure. Instead it is a symbol that good things come to those who wait and that pressure and pain can have a surprisingly beautiful result.