Barbra Streisand once recorded a Bill Withers song called "Grandma's Hands". It was from the perspective of a grown up remembering the things his Grandma's hands had done, like play the tambourine, soothe an unwed mother, and hand him a piece of candy. I loved the song, but as a young man really didn't get it. Now, five years after Mom passed, I can picture her hands as clear as day. It is such a clear memory, that it almost blows me away.

My vivid memories of Mom's hands are what started the mystery of the rings. You see, when Mom passed away, Dad and I had her cremated at Orlinger Funeral Services over on South Flores. While we were making the arrangements, I asked them if we could get her wedding ring. They told me that her body had not been released by the coroner, but they would remove her ring and give it to me when I picked up her ashes.

Now, I am a grown man. Not much scares me anymore. Just the same, I was terrified of going to get those ashes. I think I was afraid that the emotional flash flood that I had kept dammed up since her death would suddenly be unleashed. There are some things I don't do in pubic. Among them are crying and vomiting. Seriously. No matter how sick I am, I can hold it in until I am alone. No matter how sad I am, I can stifle the waterworks indefinitely. This time I wasn't sure, so I called in reinforcements. I asked my friends Jack and Mike to ride over there with me.

It turned out to be not so bad. The second I had Mom's ashes, the tension was broken. I had no idea that the little box they handed me would be so heavy. I nearly dropped the damned thing. The surprise brought out the smart-ass in me. I know this sounds horribly disrespectful, but Mom would understand. I said, "I know Mom was a big woman, but I didn't expect her to weigh this much!" Everybody laughed nervously, but I had the giggles.

I asked about Mom's ring and the lady who was helping us went through some doors to check on it. She said that, unfortunately, it was in the safe, and she did not have the key to open it. They could send it to me, or I could come back another time. I didn't want to risk it in the mail, so I told her someone would come get it in a few days.

The guys and I drove over to Dad's house to drop off the ashes. My sister and my then "brother in love" were now staying with him. Patti would be going back to Virginia, but Ray had agreed to stay and take care of Dad for awhile. I told them about the ring, and Ray said he would go pick it up later that week.

Well, I didn't get back to Dad's house until the following weekend. It was Patti's last day here, so Rachel and I went to spend some time with her. Ray handed me a little plastic baggie with a platinum band in it. I was momentarily confused. Mom's band was gold. I could picture it on her hand. I remembered when she got it. It had replaced her original bridal set about the time I was sixteen.

I told Patti I thought that Olinger had given us the wrong ring. Oddly enough, Patti and my dad both said it was the right one. I asked Dad when she had changed from the gold one. He told me that she had never had any other wedding ring in her life. I knew that wasn't true. Nobody wore those thick wedding bands in the 1950's. Even all these years later, I could clearly see Mom's hand with her original bridal set on her finger. However, there was no winning that argument. I let it go, but told Dad that, if we came across the original bridal set, I wanted it, since Patti was taking the platinum band as the eldest child.

For almost a year, I kept scouring photos of Mom trying to confirm to myself, or find proof to show others, that her band had been gold. I even asked her friends about it, but they weren't sure if she had always had the platinum one or a gold one. I decided that I could have been wrong about the gold. But, gold or platinum, I was still convinced she had a different bridal set when I was growing up.

Then one day, I took Dad to a doctor's visit at the clinic on Kelly. It was a routine appointment, but his doctor did not like what she saw. I had noticed that he was out of breath and seemed pretty worn out after walking in from the car. His pulse was extremely fast and his blood pressure was through the roof. She ordered an ambulance and had him transported over to Wilford Hall.

Since I had driven my car, I had to go all the way around to the main gate of Lackland Air Force Base and sign in at the visitor center. That took almost almost two hours, because they couldn't find Dad in the computer. They are really strict about security these days. The funny thing is, that had I been in Dad's car, I would have been waived through the gate with no issues, because he had a tiny little sticker on the bumper.

Anyway, they had a hard time getting Dad stabilized in the ER. After hours and hours, they finally admitted him into the cardiac unit. The doctor who came to see him told us that he might not make it through the night, and asked if he had a living will. Dad said he did, and asked me to go to the house and get it it for him because he did not want any extreme measures to keep him alive. At least that's how I remember the situation. I was really rattled by the "might not make it through the night" statement.

Dad had told me where to look for the living will, but I knew where it would be without his telling me. It would be in the sacred four-drawer file cabinet in his bedroom closet, which I was not supposed to know existed. Whenever he or Mom needed money or paperwork, they went back there to get it. Patti and I aren't stupid. We could hear his accordion closet doors open, the key turn in the cabinet, and the metal file drawer slide open. What he did not tell me was where the key was.

I decided to call Patti and ask her where she thought it might be. I didn't give her a full account of why Dad was in the hospital, because I didn't want to say the words "might not make it through the night" out loud. Somehow, to my crazy mind, that would encourage that outcome. Fortunately, she didn't ask many questions and was able to tell me where the key was. She had used it to get Dad's passport ready for a cruise the two of them had taken not long before.

I didn't find the living will. In fact, we didn't find it until after Dad died two years later. It was in the safety deposit box at the Security Service Federal Credit Union. But, I didn't go away empty handed. Right there in plain view, in the first drawer I opened, was a little old-fashioned ring box and a baggie with a gold wedding band in it. I opened the ring box and found Mom's original bridal set exactly like I remembered it.

I left the gold band in the file cabinet and pocketed the bridal set. After all, Dad had said I could have them, even though they didn't exist. I almost pocketed the gold band out of spite. If Patti and Dad had really looked for them instead of just humoring me and saying they would, they would have found them right away. Or, maybe they did find them and just weren't willing to admit how wrong they had been. They had been pretty mean that day we had discussed them.

When I got to the hospital things had changed. Dad was doing much better and the doctor said he may get to come home the next day. I told Dad that I had found the rings. All he said was, "You did?" On my way home from his house the next day, I stopped at Avery Jewelry and bought a chain so I could wear the rings around my neck. They stayed there for about two years, until the day they slid down my belly when the chain mysteriously broke. I was so afraid I would lose them, that I put them back in their box and locked them away.

There is still a mystery. When did Mom switch to the platinum ring? Why didn't I ever notice? Why didn't Dad remember it? Jan Archer, Mom's best friend, thinks Mom bought it for herself without telling Dad. I can believe that. Dad could be a real skinflint. Mom learned long ago to just buy the things she wanted. Most of the time Dad wouldn't even notice. Sometimes he would, but she would throw him off saying something like, "That's not new. I've had it for years. You gave it to me. I can't believe you've forgotten!"

Anyway, I have the rings. They are my favorite keepsake from my mother.They are too small to fit anything but my pinky. I slipped them on while writing this. NO, I am not going to start wearing them. But, I couldn't help noticing something for the first time. My hands look a lot like Mom's.

Okay... Cue the music... Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning. Grandma's hands played a tambourine so well...