I believe in my claddagh ring

My family is very Irish. We’re Roman Catholic, we Irish Dance (even the boys), we march in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, and we’re all paler than ghosts and burn like lobsters in the sun. When I was 8 years old, my grandma bought me my first claddagh ring. The soccer complex where the Irish Dancing competition was being held smelled profusely of body odor, and was seldom granted a much needed breeze from the tiny vents. I can almost feel my blistered, sore feet dragging through the fake grass, Grandma right next to me. We approached the vendor’s table, my eyes scanning through the plush trays of jewelry.

“Honey, you can get a ring if you want!” Grandma told me.

“Oh, okay!” My voice trailed off a bit, and so did my eyes. They glazed over the various Celtic symbols, crystals and gemstones, sizes and shapes. However, there was one common theme: a crowned heart held by two hands. Some hearts were bulging, some crowns were parading their royalty in size, others had slim hands. There were so many, but I found the one that I still wear to this day.

The crown represents loyalty. Being faithful to those important people in my life is so special to me. For example, the closest person to me in this entire world is my little sister, Maggy, who is two years my junior. She knows more about me than anybody else I know. She sees me at my best, my worst, my happiest, my angriest, when I’m upset, everything. And I see her in all of her moods and phases, too, but we love each other regardless. I mean, we have plenty of little arguments, but that doesn’t change how close we are. It usually brings us together even more. She will always be by my side no matter what predicament I’m in, and I would always do the same for her, even if we’re wrong. That, to me, is true loyalty, and it is expressed in one of the most important people in my life.

The hands symbolize friendship. I love how the hands are coming together on the heart, like the love of the heart is bringing their unity even closer. I believe that friendship is a medley of many unifying values, such as love, loyalty, communication, trust, and so many other different aspects of relationships in general. This year I became especially close to someone who taught me these values of friendship. They helped me learn how to trust, but also how to be skeptical, just how to talk to people. Not that I didn’t know how to communicate before, but after this year, I can really talk to people about serious issues without being afraid of voicing my opinion. In essence, I can be myself. Two people who can accept who they are and embrace it together, who can trust each other with anything, is true friendship to me.

The heart is the largest part of my claddagh ring. When I chose my ring on that sweltering June day, I didn’t really think about how symbolic that was to my life. Love, and not just romantic love, drives everything that is worth living for in this world. People, music, inspiration, joy, the virtue of living life.

The most immense source of love that I have ever witnessed in my short fourteen years is the marriage and relationship of my maternal grandparents, John and Margaret McNeely. Jacky the dancer and Mickey were a pure legend. He was a star basketball player at St. Ignatius High School and was known citywide for his Irish Dancing, and she was part of one of those 1950’s girl gangs, powder blue jackets, poodle skirts, and all. About a year ago, I asked Grandma where her and Grandpa met, and she said he used a pick up line at the Roundhouse bar in Put-In-Bay when they were both in their early twenties. Naturally, she thought he was annoying, and she was engaged to someone else anyway. But as time progressed, they saw each other more often, and they fell in love.

Grandma’s fiancée at the time was in the army and out of the country, and she broke up with him over a letter to marry Grandpa. Once, when I was at my Grandma’s house, I stumbled upon their wedding photo in an old picture album, and they looked like those old time movie stars from the 60’s. They then raised five beautiful children together, my mother Brigid, Mary, Jack, Kevin, and Mike. Mom always told me about how they would jitterbug, swing, jig, and sing around the house constantly, and even though they weren’t the wealthiest of families, they got through anyway with Grandpa’s electrician salary, while Grandma began working as a bookkeeper for Universal Oil when my mom was about twelve. Even as a little girl, I could see how much my grandparents loved each other. You could see the trust and friendship gleaming in their eyes when they were together, even in the hardest of moments.

Jacky the dancer was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease in 2007, and with Lou Gehrig’s disease in 2008. His mental and physical strength were fading before our very eyes. He began living in a nursing home and living off of nothing but mashed potatoes, ice cream, and applesauce. But by last November, he couldn’t even swallow his water. My grandmother, his Mickey, would sit by his side at every meal in that nursing home, eventually hand feeding him his food. She would stay and talk to him, read the paper with him, even when he couldn’t speak anymore or barely move his arms. She was there, holding his trembling hand, in his very last breath.

Six months after Grandpa’s death, I went out to lunch with my Grandma, and then we went to the cemetery to pick up the little decorations that adorned the grave. On the way home, I glanced at her hand, and noticed her claddagh ring attached to her left ring finger, and it made me remember the true love that she had shared with her husband. She shared anecdotes about Grandpa almost the entire time, and I know he’s still there with us.

To this day, my ring barely leaves my finger. It has even left an indent on my right ring finger because I wear it so much. Usually, I don’t even notice how important it is to me until I forget it one day.

I believe in loyalty.

I believe in friendship.

I believe in love, the very truest of love.

I believe in my claddagh ring.