My Father’s Jade Ring

When the mechanics said it would cost over 7K to fix my son’s truck, I thought of my father’s jade ring.

I’m not proud of the moment.

But then, it had been an expensive few months. We sold our big house and pool to move to a slightly smaller house with a beautiful view of the mountains.

My wife and I wanted to simplify our lives and spend less money on endless pool and landscape expenses. We’d rather use the money for travel, experiences, and our addiction to books.

The new house was nearly perfect.

But the kitchen was outdated. And the dead bushes in the front yard had to go. We decided to replace the fragile French doors to the backyard and upgrade to an enormous picture window for the library.

Of course, there were a few splurges, because this is going to be our forever home.

We enhanced the surrounding landscape, repainted the interior, bought and installed new bookcases and furnishings, improved the plumbing, and splurged on a baby grand piano (I studied classical piano as a boy, played and sang in a band during my university days, and was ready to have a piano in my life again).

Between moving expenses and all the improvements to the new house, we spent over 50K.

It was expensive, but we didn’t want to spend years on piecemeal projects. We wanted everything done, knowing it would take some time to pay all the bills. I’m financially conservative by nature, preferring to save and invest. But sometimes you have to bite the bullet.

And sometimes the bullet bites back.

First, the water heater died. Thankfully, we have a home warranty policy. Then, there were other unexpected expenses. But eventually, things settled down. We planned to pay everything off by the end of the year.

And that’s when my son’s 2002 Toyota truck died.

Life doesn’t always go according to plan

My son is in his last year at University and will graduate next spring with a degree in computer science.

He’s also in the Air Force ROTC, and upon graduation next year, he’ll immediately be commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant. My wife and I planned to get him a new vehicle as a graduation gift.

But life doesn’t always go according to plan.

Toyotas are reliable vehicles, but they can’t last forever. According to the mechanics, all the gaskets in my son’s truck were failing. Thus the quote for over 7K in repairs.

My wife and I decided it would be better to retire the truck and use the money to purchase a newer vehicle. We’d call it an early graduation gift. Except money was tight, due to our many home improvement costs.

That’s when I thought about my father’s jade ring.

I had it appraised years ago and was told it was worth over 10K. After my father passed away in 2004, I wore the ring regularly, even though I’m not into jewelry.

I wore it because it made me feel like my father’s spirit was still with me.

Every time I looked at the ring, it called up memories.

I could see it on my Dad’s finger in church, as his fist leaned against the pew. I saw it on his finger as his meaty hand clasped mine in congratulations on my University graduation day. I saw it flash past me when Dad embraced me on the day my son was born.

I remember it the day my father took me to the cemetery, to purchase a plot for himself. He was getting older, and his health was waning.

“None of us get to live forever, Johnny,” Dad told me as he signed the paperwork for his cremation urn, headstone, and future resting place.

That jade ring has been a recurring image in the landscape of my life.

Petty thieves will disappear, there being no valuables left to steal

Eventually, I decided to keep the ring in our safe (with all my mother’s jewelry) where it was less likely to get scuffed or damaged.

And there it sat for many years, until my son’s truck debacle.

Dad once told me, “Johnny, this Burmese jade ring is worth quite a bit. Hold onto it after I kick the bucket. It might get you out of a jam.”

The jam, it seemed, had arrived.

I opened the safe and spied the jade ring, resting comfortably among the ornate jewelry and trinkets my mother left behind (she passed away in my arms in 2021). Interestingly, I once explored selling my mother’s diamonds and opals ring.

It was quite an education.

She bought the ring for over 11K from Fourtané, an antique jeweler with a store in Carmel, California. Long after Mom’s death, I took the ring (including its official appraisal paperwork) to a local jewelry reseller. The jeweler looked at the ring and said, “Hold on a minute, let me show you something.”

He left the room and returned with a bag full of emeralds, opals, and other “precious” stones. “These are mostly worthless,” he told me. “We’re only interested in gold, silver, and diamonds. We can’t do much with the stones.”

I took the ring to another jeweler, who told me the same thing.

Then I sent an email to Fourtané, the antique jeweler in Carmel, with photos of the ring, along with images of the original sales receipt and their own professional appraisal (I learned later the appraisal was done by the owner’s son, not an independent service).

I asked in the email if they’d like to consign the ring or purchase it back at a considerable discount. I mentioned that I was a retired police chief, and provided corroborating contact information, so they’d know I wasn’t some kind of scam artist.

They never replied to my email.

Maybe the email landed in their spam folder? Or maybe they ignored me? I guess I’ll never know.

But I knew things would likely be different with Dad’s jade ring.

He was gifted it back in WWII, during his time in Japan. And the appraiser I showed the ring to years ago was an expert and well-known estate auctioneer. He assured me the ring was worth thousands.

If jade is discarded and pearls destroyed, petty thieves will disappear, there being no valuables left to steal. —From a dictionary published during the reign of Emperor K’ang Hsi (1662–1722 AD), as quoted by Gump, 1962

After my son’s truck died, while paying off all our home improvement bills, I pulled Dad’s jade ring out of the safe. I held it up to the light, studying it as memories filled my mind.

Could I really sell the ring?

By God, they’re not for sale

The thing about remnants of the past is that they keep the spirit of their owners alive.

When I hold Dad’s jade ring, I feel like a part of him is still with me. The thought of selling his ring, and forever losing this piece of my father and his history, is repellant to me.

I know Dad had no compunction about me selling his ring someday.

Dad viewed the ring as a viable asset should the need for cash arise in my future. My mother was the same way.

Mom held up her diamonds and opals ring one day and said, “Johnny, when I’m gone, sell this ring if you need to. Get yourself something nice. Besides, I don’t think it would suit your hand,” she said with a smirk.

But I’m never going to sell any of my parents’ jewelry.

How can I part with these remnants of my parents? These pieces of precious memories? Besides, most of it you can’t sell for much, anyway.

The price we pay for jewelry is seldom a good investment. We buy jewelry to feel good about ourselves, or to mark an important event in our lives. Thus, the pieces we own are more about sentimental value.

The day my father died, I was with him.

I sat beside him, reminiscing about our family and past experiences. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was labored. He was in a kind of coma, but his eyebrows twitched as I told him to rest. As I assured him he could sleep, that we’d all be fine.

I kissed him goodbye, noticing the ever present jade ring on his finger.

The hospice nurse phoned me an hour later to say that Dad had passed. In my grief, I thanked her. She asked if there was anything else she could do for me. “Yes,” I said, “Can you please slip off his jade ring, he wanted me to have it.”

My wife, ever the brilliant researcher, found a great deal on a pre-owned SUV that we bought for my son. Thus, he got his early graduation gift, and we avoided further indebtedness.

And now I know.

For the rest of my life, Dad’s jade ring will live with me and my family. Now and then I’ll pull it out of the safe, perhaps along with my mother’s rings, to sit with them and reminisce.

To hold them and feel the spirit of years past, when we were all together, laughing and loving and enjoying the many blessings of life. These rings are more than reminders of the past.

They are the remnants of my parents’ spirits, and by God, they’re not for sale.

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. If you enjoyed this piece, check out my free weekend newsletter, The Saturday Letters.

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This post was previously published on Medium.com.