Last Night I Bought a Charm Bracelet

I walked slowly into the jewelry store.  The sales girl, young with long blond hair, asked if she could help me.  I said that I was looking for a charm with a pearl on it.  Megan  means “Pearl or Precious One.”  The young woman pulled out two trays of charms, and showed me three with pearls.  Two were large and gaudy, but one was simple, with just a tiny pearl, like my tiny baby.  I asked if she had a helmet charm, too.  She showed me.  It was thick and chunky, like my little Jenn who wore a helmet for four months.  I said that I would take them both.  She showed me the bracelet that went with them and how it works.  I reached a finger out, touched the little pearl and began to cry.

The poor sales girl kept saying it was okay and did I want a tissue.  I told her very briefly about our babies, gone from our arms but never from our hearts.  She didn’t know what to say.  She boxed the bracelet, and I paid.  Then I walked with red eyes through the mall and out to my van.  I drove partway across the parking lot, then parked again.  I opened the box and took out the charm bracelet.  I removed the charms and, holding them in my palm, just sobbed.

At last, I threaded them back on, first Meggie’s because she came first and we lost her first, then a cross to remind me that someone is taking care of them, then Jenn’s .  Her wound is still so raw.

And I wondered, as I placed the bracelet on my wrist, how many more charms will join theirs?