Sacredness of the Ordinary

           The gold ring that never seems to leave my finger was given to me by my grandfather. He had given it to me for my first birthday. He wanted to give me something that I will always remember him by. I never really wore it until now and I never take it off. My grandfather passed away in 2007. He passed away because of a stroke and hypothermia. He had gone out for a walk in the cold October evening with nothing but a shawl. He sat down on the curb to take a break and just passed out. Someone driving by found him 1 1/2  hours later. He could have been saved if someone had found him 10 minutes after he had the stroke, but it was too late. I remember every little bit of it, the police banging on my door, tears, screaming and pain.  We saw ambulances outside, oblivious of the thought of my grandfather being in there. I remember feeling my blood run cold and my heart drop to the floor when the police officer pulled out my grandfather's ID. "Someone found him on the street. We need to rush to the hospital", said the officer. My mom rushed to the ambulance outside and I was left there in shock. I may have been young but I will always have that day embedded in my memory. I will never forget that day. I cried for days, it felt like hell. He passed away on my cousin's birthday. My cousin hates celebrating his birthday because that memory will always be there. He's turning 21 soon, but he has never gotten over it, none of us really have. It seems like it happened maybe 2 years ago but no, its been 8 years. That thought hits me like a truck. Has it really been that long?

         I loved him more than anything and I still do. There's not a single day I don't think about him. I remember playing with him when I was younger. He would take me to the train station and we would just watch them pass by, he'd give me piggyback rides and buy me candy from the convenience store. My mother told me that when I was born, he was beyond happy. I was the only girl born out of his grand kids. She said he held me with such care. I was his prized possession, now this small little ring that he gave me, is mine. The mention of his name still makes my heart crumble a little. I always seem to fiddle with the ring, I rub my fingers against the grooves and think about what life would be like if he was still here. If I ever were to take it off, it would feel like a part of me is missing. I feel odd without it. I keep it on my wedding ring finger, kind of like a promise ring. Some people see it as a flashy ring or something that maybe my nonexistent boyfriend gave me, but no it's not. I don't care for the way it looks, I would still wear it if it was made out of plastic. It's a one of a kind ring just like my grandfather, no one can replace it and no one can replace him.