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Grief and Healing at the Medicine Wheel
Red was Donna’s color. It suited her dark hair, and when we acquired the Oldsmobile convertible from the muscle car years she always wanted, I got it painted bright red and the interior done in red velour. It had red fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror and a sound system that would tenderize meat.
She wrote in a red journal, her personal telephone was red, and her favorite attire around the house was a red silk kimono I brought her from Japantown in San Francisco.
Donna’s affinity for red was the inspiration for a practice of mine that persisted over years. It was easy before we put our money in the same account; then it got harder. I would put aside a little bit each payday and sneak down to a jeweler, where I always had some loose rubies on layaway — the only way I could afford to buy them.
When the stones were paid for, I would have them made into a piece of jewelry for Donna. I gave her ruby earrings, a necklace, a bracelet. She had a pretty good collection of shiny red rocks before she understood they were real.
We spent a lot of time in national parks and Texas state parks and there always seemed to be a retinue of cardinals following Donna around. Male cardinals, the bright red ones.
