I thought we’d run out of stories, but I was wrong. I should have realized that anyone who’s been on this earth for 95 years, as my grandmother has, will always have one more story somewhere inside.
This time, it was the ring that raised the story. I was visiting my grandmother at her assisted living facility, and I’d finished filling her in on all the news of the day. I was trying desperately to come up with a new conversation topic, one that wouldn’t bring up the painful subjects of her failing eyesight or loss of independence, one that ideally would focus on happier times.
Then I noticed a glint of gold among the welter of long necklaces she loves to wear. “Is that your high school class ring on that chain?” I…
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