This ring is pure silver with amethyst stone. I don't have the tools for silversmithing since I left Arkansas to be with my how husband, however, this ring was not my own work. It was my grandfather's, who carefully crafted this adjustable ring for my grandmother (Dad's side of the family).
I never liked my grandmother on my dad's side, always thought of her as a "crazy and evil bitch", I only learned recently that my grandmother was a schizophrenic and now I empathize with her and keep this ring with pride. I too am a paranoid schizophrenic and understand the hell she went through in her daily life.
Throughout her adult life she would change ring sizes due to gaining and losing weight. One year she'd be 100 pounds heavier, then she'd lose 50, gain 50, lose 80, gain 90, lose 40, etc. So rather than having to have multiple rings for a changing ring size, my grandfather smithed this ring for her. She would wear it and never took it off until the day she passed.
And since I'm one of the few relatives she trusted to keep heirlooms, as I've had her grandfather's antique back belt (hidden behind my bald head), she left this ring to me in her will. My grandfather made sure I had it.
My grandfather eventually passed away. In his will, he left me his "love and endurance" and a single antique confederate coin. I still have the ring (pictured above), the coin, the belt and coincidentally, 5 of my grandmother's art journals that my uncle didn't want. He just wanted the house.
The antique leather belt that was hidden behind my bald head.
My grandmothers art was quite fantastical, she too drew and wrote about what she experienced in her schizophrenic hallucinations, much like I have in a previous post "The Sun is Gone". She drew depictions of demons clawing at her flesh, monsters chasing a little girl, giant stick monsters, undead animals, house break ins, blackened skies.
I always thought it was just her art style, but it wasn't. It was the hell she lived through every day. I cried when I learned that my grandmother also had experiences with hallucinations involving broken time and the feeling it gives you when the hallucination is gone. The delusions that she was trapped in hell and beliefs that she was already dead and demanding a proper funeral from her husband, something I've experienced first hand myself.
I feel more connected now and empathetic towards this woman that I have hated so much for so long. I used to celebrate the date of her death. Now I'm ashamed. I hate myself for that. I hate the fact that I've celebrated the death of someone who was suffering from the same mental illness that I share with her. Having similar hallucinations I've experienced almost down to a T. Someone who's heard the whisperings and screams of the many voices that echo into our ears.
It's been a long time coming, but Grandma, I'm sorry, you are a super strong woman to have lived so long suffering from schizophrenia when most of us end up committing suicide. I hope, if there is an afterlife, that you are treated well. I don't expect to go to the same place as you, and I don't expect you to forgive me for the intense hatred I've had of you for so many years. But I can now say, at least I understand and know what your life was like and I hope I have the strength to live to the ripe old age of 94 and beyond.