Stone Stories: The use, origin, myth, or cultural attributes of....Jet

Jet’s Opportunity: The widow stared down at me through watery eyes. “She’s gone, but I am still here. Why can’t she be here now?” “Hush darling, I’m here,” another woman spoke. You know my sister always said you were the stronger one out of you both. “I don’t feel strong right now Auntie.” As they embraced, I was clenched in a small fist. The young woman’s arms were wrapped around the other’s neck and moaning sobs were ripped from her throat. As Auntie began to cry too, she rubbed her hand up and down her nieces’ back.

“Your mom would be so happy though. You have made it through so much. She let you fly and you came back. You have great grandma’s ring. Each woman wears it in mourning when a family member passes. She wore it for when you left, hoping it would console her for the things she said. This ring is made from Jet. It is said to help people own up to their mistakes and right any wrongs they have done. It helps people see the way to make amends if they have hurt someone.”

“Why did she send it to me then the year after I left? I come back now after everything, FINALLY wanting to move past and the opportunity is gone! She left us and never said a word,” the young woman screamed into the hair of her aunt while holding on for balance and for solace. “Well, the ring has another purpose. We women in the family also pass it to each other when embarking on great self-journeys. It is for focusing on goals, learning what your true desires are and accomplishing them. It helps you utilize all of your skills, abilities or talents. She felt you were ready for it. Ready for success, even if it meant she wouldn’t be by your side.”

I could feel the heat of anger and love mixed together as the emotions the girl held inside started to flow out and into me. “I’ll help more” I thought. “I’ll help how I’ve helped them all. She has her degree, she now has her family again, she has healed from all of the pain she has endured. It is time for her to be at peace.” With that, the little ring passed the love that the departed mother had stored in him to her weeping daughter.

She slowed her crying and sank to the ground wondering what to do next. As she sat, she looked at the little ring and slipped it on her index finger and whispered, “Point me in the right direction.” As she slowly let the soft words escape, her aunt turned that hand and finger towards her heart, and stroked her hair, speaking the words, “Start here.”

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