As I dress for the funeral this morning, my mind roams in many directions…

Of course, I’ll wear black, though my secret desire is to wear a long dress of red, pink, and orange flowers, as the deceased, my friend’s mother, loved flowers. I don’t know the extended family well enough to ensure that I’m not disrespecting their wishes, so I follow tradition…

I open my jewelry boxes and ponder. I’ve lived a long time and have jewelry from  both sides of my family and my own collection. Three generations of pearls seems too much for today (though I have worn three pearl necklaces before—it feels wrong to leave out anyone). Instead, I choose three pendants:

• A gold disk with my birthstone and engraved with my initials on one side and my great uncle’s partner’s initials on the other
• A 1.5-inch gold charm of a little girl holding an amethyst heart that I gave to my mom, representing her granddaughter/my daughter
• A one-inch gold jester/clown from Italy that moves like a marionette, which my parents gave to me after one of their trips there. (I can’t remember if they bought it to recognize my volunteering as a clown years ago in hospital settings. I only know that it makes me smile.)

The chains holding the pendants are a combination of my mother’s and mine.

I don my dad’s gold watch, given to him by his uncle.

Then, I clip two of the same bracelets around one of my wrists —my mom had bought one for each of us.

Deciding which earrings to wear is tough… I picked up the long gold teardrop earrings from the family trip to Israel in 1976.

Lastly, I turn to rings and choose a simple black and gold one from one of our trips to Africa and a big, sleek gold dolphin from our trip to Greece in 1975. My mom loved big rings… I rarely wear them.

I feel enveloped in memories and family… and ready to step into car for the drive to the cemetery.