Day 2 #SOL16

An investment in knowledge pays the best interest. ~ Benjamin Franklin

 

It is 4:13 PM, and I am still circling the office park looking for the correct building. I have a 4:15 appointment with a new allergist, and I am feeling just a little stressed.  I find Building M, zip into a parking space, and power-walk  to the office door.  The receptionist greets me with a clipboard and a request to see the usual – my photo id, insurance card, and payment.  I sit down to complete the papers before me, and I am distracted by voices coming from a loft office, CNN on the TV, and the doctor and nurses moving in and out of the room.  I am not sure how I am feeling about this new office and new doctor.

After a few minutes the doctor calls me back to his office to discuss my current ailment and take my medical history. As I answer his questions, my eyes scan the massive desk before me.  I am drawn to a book of quotes by Benjamin Franklin that sits atop a pile of medical magazines.  It is the same book of quotes by BF that I own! (As you read more of my blog entires you will see that I LOVE quotes!)  Well, if this doctor has such wonderful taste in reading material, he must be good, I thought.

My visit continues in an examining room. Once all the necessities are completed, I am again find myself in the doctor’s office to discuss the next steps and a plan of action.  While waiting for him to return, I notice something that I hadn’t noticed before.  There on his wall were many of the Franklin quotes written and illustrated by a child. Now I am totally convinced that this is the perfect doc for me.  How can I go wrong with someone who obviously values quotable words and the works of children?

Not all treasure is silver or gold. ~ Captain Jack Sparrow

My mother’s gold cross is gone, and I am sick about it on many levels.

For as long as I can remember my mother wore that beautiful gold cross around her neck every day.  It was a gift from her father on his return from one of his many trips to his homeland, Italy.

 To my mother, the cross was a connection to her father who died nearly 45 years ago.

To me, it was an outward sign of my mother’s great faith.

To one of her visiting aides, it was money – something they could pawn or melt down for cash.

I am sick that I will not be the recipient of that cross someday.  As the oldest daughter, I had my eye on that one piece of jewelry to claim as my own once my mom was no longer with us.  I could see myself wearing that cross and feeling a special connection to my mother and grandfather.

I am sick that a person we paid to help my mom, while she waited for a room in an assisted living facility, felt the right to help herself to that cross along with other jewelry, gift cards, and a little cash. How low can you be? How desparate? How can you sleep at night knowing you stole from a woman suffering with dementia? I don’t understand.

I am sick that all the good jewelry is gone, and my siblings and I will not have the opportunity to pass it down to our children or grandchildren someday. That honor has been stolen from us.

As time passes, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is slowly being replaced with sadness and then resignation.  I know that in the grand scheme of life the jewelry was not really that important. Although each piece evoked a particular memory, the memories we hold in our hearts can never be stolen.