Something that is her

When I was home over Christmas break, I came across a ring that belonged to my mother. It wasn't a fancy ring, it was actually a rock (literally a pebble) that had been painted with a smiling yellow sun and hot-glued to a cheap metal adjustable ring.
My brother and sister had offered this ring to me a couple of years ago when we were cleaning out the attic. At the time I took it simply because it was kind of cute but I had no intention of wearing it and left it on the shelf in my childhood bedroom.
I came across it again this Winter break and when I picked it up I noticed pencil thin writing at the bottom of the pebble. When I looked closer to see what it said I saw the word "Patty." My mom had actually signed the ring.
Suddenly, the ring became sentimental. For me it was evidence of a time when she was making crafts. The smiling yellow sun now became an expression of my mother's personality (she had painted it after all). I picked up the ring and placed it on my ring finger. It fit well and I decided to wear it, to keep my mother with me, something I had never done before.

I felt a little self conscious about the ring because it is on my wedding ring finger and because, well, it really is a pebble stuck on top of a ring so I thought it would draw a lot of attention. So far, no one has noticed it or said anything about it. I have to admit that part of me was hoping that people would so that I could talk about it, show it off. But it hasn't happened yet.
I originally thought that this was what the ring was going to be about: people pointing it out to me, suggesting that I not wear it on my ring finger, or suggest that the 70's pebble might be best worn by a little girl, not a grown woman. Yet I've been watching myself interact with this ring; how closely I keep tabs on it, how I try to wear it all the time, and how afraid I have been of losing it. At first I thought this was sweet. I thought it was nice that I was wearing something of my mother's, that I was keeping her with me. But then, this weekend, I found myself disappointed in the ring. I wondered what this disappointment was about and this is what came up:

She didn't come back.
You're wearing the ring and she is not with it.
It has her signature, it has her drawing, it is her ring but it is not her.

It turns out I'm still expecting her to return. In the same way that I thought that acknowledging that I was a writer, that I was like her by being a writer, it would somehow make her appear, show back up in my life, I think I thought that by wearing her ring it would make her come back.

It didn't.

I'm not quite sure what it is that I am supposed to accept:
she's not coming back
she's dead
I'll never see her again

I can't quite figure out what it is that I want.

I think I really just something that is her. I just don't know what that something is.