Leave the Dents

One of the pieces of my mother’s jewelry given to me after her death was a gold bracelet with a watch embedded in it. I picked it because I remember her wearing it, and it “looks like her.” When I hold it, it feels like she’s just stepped out of the room and will be right back. I wish that were true.

I took it to the local jeweler to get an estimate for getting the watch to work again, and, when I heard back, they said it needed only a minor fix, but added “we won’t be able to remove the dents." “The dents?” I replied, surprised. “Oh, please leave the dents!”

The dents remind me of the woman to which it once belonged. I can picture the creation of each dent. One, I’ll bet, came when she got up suddenly from the dining room table when I told her I’d somehow smashed the car against the wall in front of our house. Another might have come when she hit her wrist against the bleachers, cheering for my brother at a football game or wrestling match. I’m sure one came from pounding the kitchen table, as she demanded my sister eat three mouthfuls (a family rule) of liver, and another when nervously sitting on an airplane, desperate to get home to her other daughter after she was in a terrible car accident. The dents, however they were made, are what make the bracelet Mom's. Without them, it would just be another piece of jewelry.

Unfortunately, our world has an aversion to dents. Both in the things we own, and the lives we live, we seem determined to remove (or hide) the dents, when, in fact, it’s the dents that tell the stories of our lives. It’s the dents that make our things, and ourselves, real.

I can’t wait until I get the bracelet back and let my wife wear it. No doubt, she will add dents of her own.