Member-only story
The Locket… and a Sprinkle of Belief
My father gave my mother a delicate gold locket long before I was dreamt into being.
Their wedding date was etched on the side that lay against Mom’s chest.
When I was 16, she gave it to me — five years after Dad had died of a heart attack.
Maybe she gifted it to me because she felt I needed the strength that it gave her before and following his death.
Or, did she feel a sense of guilt when it was replaced by the oval version given to her by my stepdad?
Maybe a bit of both.
I wore it happily, feeling closer to Dad and the life he once shared with us all.
A few days later, I had a softball tournament and was told by an umpire I needed to remove it. I complied and put it with my belongings on the bench.
The day was blazingly hot, as the Southern California sun played witness to several softball games in a single day spread across three different large fields.
I moved from field to field and shifted my belongings (including the locket) as needed.
The tournament ended in the evening, and I headed to the locker room. By then the sun had set — the sky was crimson red.
