This story starts with a question and ends with a question. One from an inquiring grandmother, the other from a nervous grandson.
But actually, it starts much earlier than that.
The year is 1913. The day, June 13. The day my grandfather entered the world. His father—my great-grandfather—a Congressman from Illinois, wanted to commemorate the day. He bought a ring for his wife. The ring had thirteen diamonds in it.
I never met my great-grandfather, or my great-grandmother. And while my grandfather had met me, I don’t recall meeting him. He died when I was only one. I wish it were otherwise. But I know his wife and daughters pretty well. And because of them, his life, and the ring used to commemorate his life, changed mine.
I remember the phone call vividly. It was August 2011. I was just wrapping up the last few weeks of my summer internship. I called home on a Sunday evening to catch up with my folks. I don’t remember the first half of the conversation, but my memory of the conversation kicks in upon overhearing my dad ask my mom, “Should we tell him about Grandma?” Oh, no, I thought. Gram is sick. But before my thoughts could spiral any further, I heard my mom chuckle.
“Is Tracy around?” she asked. “Yea, she’s in the other room,” I responded quickly. “Okay,” she said in a hushed voice, “I visited Gram today, and I have a story for you…”
“What are Doug’s intentions?” Gram asked bluntly.
“I don’t know, Mom,” my mom responded, almost annoyed. “I know that he loves Tracy very much and talks about the future with her.” She knew this bought her some time, but not much.
My mom was on her weekly Saturday visit with Gram. They had just come back from lunch and were sitting around watching golf in Gram’s apartment. My grandma had become relentlessly curious about Tracy and my relationship in the preceding weeks. There was a family wedding a few weeks prior that started it all.
Arrangements. Where would Doug and Tracy stay for the wedding? Gram had to know. Where would Tracy sleep? Would she have her own room? My mom would tell a few fibs to try to buy some time. But she couldn’t keep it up forever. She finally broke down and confessed.
“They’re living together, Mom. They have been for almost a year.” A few moments of silence followed. “Well, it sure is a different time,” Gram said, somewhat sadly. And that was it. Or at least that’s what we thought.
“Well, are they going to get married?” Gram asked on that Saturday afternoon, driving her point like a prosecutor on cross-exam.
My mom squirms in her chair. “Yes, Mom. Yes, I think they will get married,” exasperated. There! There you have it!
Gram takes a moment to consider my mother’s words. Then she slowly lifts her arms, puts a hand on each arm of her chair, and begins to rise. “Come with me,” she says.
I came home two months later for a family-friends’ wedding. It was early October. This time Tracy stayed up in San Francisco. Therefore, Gram didn’t have to fuss over arrangements. Instead, she had other things on her mind.
“Well, I have the ring,” Gram says in a let’s-not-waste-time-with-formalities tone.
We had just sat down for lunch. I hadn’t even put the dressing on my salad. I smiled and chuckled, unsure of what to say. She smiled back and then started in on her navy bean soup. We talked about golf, the books she’s read lately, and the last dumb movie she saw. She gave me an update on all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Then the food was gone and it was time to walk over to her apartment.
We walk out of the Garden’s Dining Hall and make for the path toward Gram’s apartment. Gram waives and says hello to a few senior passerby’s, knowing each by name. Just before we arrive at Gram’s apartment, she slows and looks over at me.
“So when are you going to give it to her?”
“Gosh, I’m not sure yet, Gram,” I say, fumbling for the right words.
Thinking for a moment, she looks ahead and then again at me. “Well, does she have a birthday coming up?”
“Yes, actually. Her birthday is next week.”
“Well, that sounds like a perfect time to give it to her,” not wasting a second.
I laugh as we open the door to her apartment. We walk in and she sets her walker to the side. “Come with me…”
I follow her to the back room of her apartment. She walks over toward her dresser and pulls open the top drawer. She reaches her hand in and pulls out a small box. She opens the box. With the look of a proud parent handing over her baby to be held, she handed the box over to me. I wasfloored. The ring was stunning.
Gram proceeded to tell me the story behind the ring. My great-grandfather bought it for my great-grandmother to celebrate the birth of my grandfather. The ring had 13 diamonds in it because my grandfather, Bill Gorman, was born on June 13, 1913. My great-grandmother wore the ring until she died, and then she passed it on to her daughter, who wore the ring for a few years but never felt right about it. She felt as though the ring should belong to Mary, my grandmother, because the ring was initially given to celebrate Bill’s birth in 1913. About thirty or forty years ago, she gave the ring to Gram, who has had the ring ever since.
I had known for quite some time before this moment that I would ask Tracy to marry me. But I never thought about how or when I would do it, let alone what ring I would propose with. But all of the sudden, I knew. Sitting in Gram’s living room, I knew my whole world had completely changed. My thoughts were spiraling from complete conviction to fear. I felt like I was simultaneously floating and sinking. My thoughts spiraled.
“When did you say Tracy’s birthday was, Doug?” Gram asked, never losing sight of the mission.
“It’s next Thursday, October 13th.”
“The 13th? Well, I think that’s an omen!”
I think so, Gram. I think so.
