Charm Bracelets

Diaries Written in Metal

Since my December birthday and even before, I’ve been thinking a lot about my mortality and wondering what to do with all of my stuff. Quilts, sewing machines, clothing, jewelry—all can go to someone specific or at least be passed along. But what about the personal ones, the things specific to my life?

Charm bracelets keep rising to the surface when I think about those personal things. Each bracelet, with stories embedded in each charm, is a diary of that particular time in my life.

Mom’s charm bracelet from the early 30s

I am fortunate to have Mom’s charm bracelet, made of oval silver links that appear substantial but are surprisingly light. A small gold heart, engraved with her initials on one side and Dad’s on the other, rests among the links. The padlock-shaped piece is the clasp used to open and close the bracelet, with no key required. She never mentioned this bracelet in her diary, even though she would have received it during that time. I find that surprising, since she recorded so much of her daily life. When did Dad give it to her? Was it in her 16th year? Was it a special occasion? Questions that will never be answered.

Then I come to my own three charm bracelets.

My charm bracelet from the 60s

This one is from a boy I dated years ago. My friends referred to him as my “long-distance man.” He lived about 1,000 miles away and was visiting his cousin when we met. The relationship was carried mostly through letters, with a few phone calls and occasional visits. We met on July 12, 1967—the date is engraved on one of the charms—when we were paired on a tennis date. He was a cousin of my friend Carole’s boyfriend. The bracelet is made of twisted oval links and holds a small collection of charms, including tennis rackets, my birthstone, a majorette charm, and several others that were added over time. A short safety chain connects the clasp to the bracelet, designed to keep it from being lost if it came undone. It’s a sweet, delicate bracelet, one I was happy to wear at the time.

My charm bracelet my parents bought me and added to it during the 60s.

Not to be outdone, my second bracelet is one my parents gave me, also when I was sixteen. Unlike the one from my boyfriend, this one is sturdier, with a heavier chain, and it carries pieces from many parts of my growing-up years. There are a couple of majorette charms, a Sweet 16 charm, and several from the trip Mom, Dad, and I took to Colorado to visit my sister Mari. One of the charms reads Estes Park, where I bought a navy blue corduroy jacket that became my favorite and stayed with me until it was threadbare. On that trip, Colorado planted itself in my mind, a place I would later feel drawn back to for a solo winter ski trip.

There are also Bosse High School charms, a tiny pencil sharpener, and a small carton of Cokes. As kids, we used to walk a couple of blocks to Woods Drugs, where we’d drink those nickel Coca-Colas, sitting across from each other in one of the red leather booths, sipping through straws from tall glasses, leaning in close, whispering and giggling over whatever was going on that week. There’s a pair of dice from Nevada from my older sister Martha, even though I never traveled there during that time, and a charm from Mari’s wedding in 1966.

My Italian charm bracelet from Dave in 2006

The last charm bracelet is from my husband, Dave. He bought the charms and bracelet during our 2006 trip to Italy. Unlike the others, this Italian-made modular bracelet features interchangeable stainless steel links that click together to form a band. These links can be personalized with a variety of charms. There’s a Colosseum charm, a reminder of standing in a huge crowd, looking up at architecture so vast it felt almost unreal. A gondola from Venice marks the ride we took—less romantic than I had imagined, since we shared it with several other people, but memorable all the same. There are also cherries, a small nod to afternoons spent picking them from Dave’s cherry trees back home. Unlike the others, this is a bracelet I continue to wear.

But what happens to these once I’m gone? They can’t be reclaimed or repurposed. They’re not gold, like Mari’s bracelet, which could at least have been melted down and given a new life. My charm bracelets, those diaries written in metal, are only valuable to me. And that is enough.