The Charm Bracelet by Viola Shipman
For my grandmothers … and my mom
Thanks for teaching me that the grandest gifts in life are the simplest and for entrusting me with your charms, which retaught me that lesson.
prologue
The Half-Heart Charm
To a Life Where We’re Never Separated
July 4, 1953—Lolly
Fireflies blinked, illuminating the stepping-stones to Lost Land Lake.
“You see that, Lolly?” my mom laughed in the twilight. “Mother Nature is giving us a preview to the fireworks.”
I smiled and inhaled.
My whole world smelled of summer: Suntan lotion and sparklers, barbecues and pine needles.
By our ears, dragonflies fluttered, as if an orchestra of violins had been sent, just for my mom and me, as we walked to our dock.
I had just blown out the candles on my tenth birthday cake, and my dad was busy building a bonfire for s’mores. He had given me his gift, my first fishing pole, so I could spend Sundays with him, but now it was time for my mom’s gift. And she always gave it to me at the end of our dock.
In the quickening dusk, I felt for her hand as we walked, our wrists colliding, setting our charm bracelets jangling. I giggled. Out of habit, I began to feel for her charms, trying to guess each one by touch rather than sight. It was a game I had invented years ago.
“My baby shoe!” I said excitedly.
“To a life filled with happy, healthy children,” my mom said.
“A key!” I yelled.
“Because you unlocked my heart,” she said.
“Snowflake?”
“Yes,” she said. “To a person of many dimensions.”
My fingers kept flying, and my mom had a story and explanation for every charm. I knew almost every one by heart, and I spun my fingers until I found my favorites, the ones I always played with: The grand piano with the lid that opened and closed, the turtle with green gemstone eyes whose head moved back and forth, and a wishing well with a moving crank.
“To a life filled with beauty, a life filled with slow, meaningful decisions, and a life where all your wishes come true!”
As we neared the end of the dock, my fingers felt a charm I couldn’t identify.
“What’s this one, Mommy?” I asked. “I don’t know it.”
“That…” My mom hesitated, and her voice broke.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s my rocking chair,” she explained.
“What’s it for?”
“It’s for…”—again, she stopped, catching her breath, as if she had just finished a long swim across the lake—“… a long and healthy life.”
We took a seat at the end of the dock, and dangled our feet in the water, just as the fireworks started.
“Ooooh!” I said, as much for the chill of the water as for the fireworks. “Woooowww!”
My birthday fell on the Fourth of July, just like our nation’s, and I was a child of summer.
“All those fireworks are really for you!” my mom would always whisper, the explosions booming overhead and echoing off the water. “The world is celebrating your uniqueness!”
Every year, for as long as I could remember, I received a charm from my mother on special occasions: Christmas, trips, school accomplishments. And every birthday, my mom would add another charm to my bracelet.
This year was no different.
“Happy birthday, Lolly!” my mom said, pulling me into her arms and kissing my head. “You ready to recite our poem first?”
I shook my head no.
“Why not?”
“Mom! I’m getting too old.”
“You will never be too old. Let’s do it together then!”
This charm
Is to let you know …
My mom’s face lit up as she started the poem. Suddenly, it was like jumping into the lake on a hot day, I couldn’t resist. So I joined in: That every step along the way,
I have loved you so.
So each time you open up,
A little box from me
Remember that it really all
Began with You and Me.
My mom hugged me, radiating with joy. “Here you go,” she said, pulling a small package from the pocket of her jacket.
I ripped open the tiny box, and, as usual, there was a silver charm sitting atop a little velvet throne.
“What is it, Mommy?” I asked, squinting in the darkness.
“It’s half of a heart. To a life where we’re never separated.”
I pulled it out of the box and studied it, rubbing my hands over its delicate outline.
“Where’s the other half?”
“Right here,” she said, showing me her bracelet, which was as heavy with charms as our Christmas tree was with ornaments. Then she took my wrist, added the charm and placed my hand on her heart. “And right here. You will always be a part of me.”
I smiled and leaned into my mom. She was warm, safe, and smelled like a mix of peonies and Coppertone.
“See, when you put our charms together,” she said, connecting the two halves of our heart, “they read MOM AND DAUGHTER. They complete each other. So no matter what happens from now on, I will always be a part of you, and you will always be a part of me. Will you promise me something, Lolly?”