Aunt Helen wrote about a splendid spring morning in which she had just finished planting some petunias and marigolds at her house.
“I had just sat down on the glider under the apple tree where many times Constantina and I sat talking, sometimes of trivial things and sometimes of serious matters. A car drove down the alley and stopped behind me.”
As she turned around, she saw my dad coming toward her. He sat down beside the aunt he adored.
“I have something for you,” he said as he handed her a jewelry box. “It’s for mom. It’s the wedding ring dad was never able to give her. It’s from all of us. We will give it to her on Mother’s Day.”
“Oh, Bill,” Aunt Helen exclaimed. “You don’t know how much this will mean to her. She has been longing for it all her life and has been hoping for one, sometimes a little bitter, sometimes disappointed feeling that she was completely forgotten, yet never demanding.”
After Mother’s Day, Grandma Greek went to see Aunt Helen.
“What an expression of happiness she had on her face and that smile she always had told me she received her wedding ring,” said Aunt Helen.
She told Aunt Helen all about it and finally asked her if she had known about it.
“Yes, Bill had shown me the ring before.”
Aunt Helen hugged and kissed her.
“Na to xaris polla xronia. (May you enjoy it for many years),” said Aunt Helen as the two embraced.
A few months later, the ring story had a sudden sad turn.
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