At the hospital, my mother took Constance’s fingerprints for memorial purposes. I can’t imagine the breathtaking pain it caused her to take those fingerprints after Constance passed. I gave my mother all the terrible jobs, including notifying Constance’s caregivers and family. Like a person whose pickup truck is used monthly by friends for moving things, my mother’s strength puts her in the position of being asked to do exceptional feats of will. This is unfair but true. Luckily, I don’t have any practical skills and, as a result, I’m never asked to do anything.
I scanned Constance’s fingerprint and sent the image to a jeweler. They put it on a heart necklace for me. I am looking forward to giving my mother a necklace with Constance’s fingerprint for her birthday.
On the back of my fingerprint necklace is a miniaturized handwritten note. Last summer, all the kids at day camp were asked to write a note to someone. My cherub picked me and filled the entire page with, “Dear Mom, Love Constance.” I hung the note in a prideful plague on my bedroom wall. Writing was her Everest and when she reached the top, she picked me to write a note to. That note is now also miniaturized on the other side of the heart necklace.
I’ve never been a person that wears jewelry. I haven’t worn a ring in years. Candace didn’t like jewelry either. It is just another thing to worry about losing in the pool or at the beach.
Still, I like to see the charm and think of my talented, thoughtful little girl. She is still my heart.