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The Pearl Earrings

November 1994:

After several months of in and out of hospitals, it was decided that Mom's declining health would be best attended in a Rest Home. My extensive commute to and from work in Manhattan, coupled with household responsibilities, made it virtually impossible to give her the proper home care.

I had just returned from a long visit at the Rest Home. The phone was ringing. It was our family physician announcing that within one hour of my departure Mom had passed on.

It was bittersweet for me. For the most part, Mom had ruled and controlled my life; yet an empty feeling prevailed because my young adult son shared a very special bond with her.

I took a deep breath. I needed to make the arrangements for her "journey." As prepared as I had been, I was suddenly questioning this and looking for that.

The funeral home provided a beautiful blue gown for her. As a Roman Catholic, the traditional rosaries were provided for entwining between and over her fingers, but I decided to break tradition. Mom would hold one single rose. Roses were her favorite flower. Her name was Rose; hence, a rose for Rosie.

I searched our shared jewelry box, which was kept hidden in the middle bureau draw, for her cameo earrings. For whatever reason, they were not in the box. The only earrings to be found were gold loops or dangles; these were unacceptable.

My Italian heritage dictates that pearls represent tears and disappointment; hence they are considered a huge "NO-NO!" Against better judgment and defying the element, I selected my tiny gold, heart-shaped filigree earrings with a center-pearl. They were adorable, yet my gut was screaming NO' they are pearls!

Memorial Day 1995:

The holiday weekend was warm and festivities ensued. I had finished dressing and opened my jewelry box to select my accessories.

I stood there, paralyzed in total horror! The small pearl earrings were back in the jewelry box. I did not own a duplicate pair. They were one of a kind.

I approached my son, asking him if this was a sick joke or if the funeral director had returned them to him unbeknown to me. Equally shocked and horrified, he gave me a loud, definite "NO, Mom!" We both stood there immobilized for what seemed forever.

Then reality knifed me in the heart. My belief in the paranormal and earthbound spirits was confirmed. Mom hated the earrings. Her spirit found its way back to the house and returned them. Why a year later, I cannot reason with and who am I to question the spirit world?

My maternal aunt was not surprised since she is also a believer of the paranormal and had questioned my choice of earrings from the beginning. She suggested that I put the earrings in a small plastic box and put it back at the gravesite. I strongly objected. I ended up trashing them since the bad karma was already in effect.

My freaked out state of mind offered a humorous, yet unauthorized reply: "let's just hope she liked the blue gown, otherwise we are really in trouble."

To this day, the mystery remains a mystery. There is little explanation for what I witnessed, except that although the deceased is put to rest, their spirit does, in fact, roam the earth with unfinished business and communication ensues in different forms.

Learn more about this author, Lori Buttermark.
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