Mom's rings.

But the one thing we did not find: my mother’s wedding rings.

I have distinct memories of mom’s rings. They were tiny, but so was she. They were also understatedly beautiful and simple, again, not unlike their wearer. Made out of white gold, the thin wedding band nestled next to a slender engagement band set with a large white solitaire diamond. I had always been impressed by the size of the diamond, once I became aware of such things, as well as the fact that my Dad, a not-exactly stylish, borderline miser had picked this big beautiful stone and classic setting. She had tiny hands, a little stubby and reddened from housework and the dryness of the library where she worked, but I thought they were beautiful. Since I never saw her without her rings, they were as much a part of her hands as her fingernails. Perhaps seeing your mother’s hands is your first true memory as a child, and the one you will carry in your body forever.