“The written word may be man’s greatest invention. It enables us to communicate with those who are gone, those who are absent, and those yet to come.” —Abraham Lincoln
In my grasp lies a seemingly insignificant nickel from 1905, adorned with a prominent V—a Victory nickel. It’s noticeably smaller and lighter than today’s five-cent coins, its surface smooth and worn from the passage of time. However, this particular coin hasn’t circulated in decades; it spent years nestled in a small white jar with a black lid, inside a metal box belonging to Ms. Emily Carter, located near Oxford, Mississippi.
This nickel carries with it a profound history, resonating with the essence of Lincoln’s quote, which also serves as a guiding principle for our community. A few weeks back, I penned an article about my Chinese-American grandmother, who dedicated 65 years of her life to a quaint town in the Mississippi Delta. I didn’t anticipate a large readership, which was fortunate, as it turned out to be limited. The piece recounted the story of my uncle, Tommy, who tragically drowned at the tender age of 12—a loss that has cast a long shadow over our family for generations.
Most of the readers came from the Mississippi Delta—some Chinese-American, others not—consisting of old friends, classmates, and neighbors of my family. Among them was a complete stranger: Emily Carter, who reached out to my mother, sharing that she and my uncle Charles had graduated together in 1958. She wrote:
“My brother, Nathan Carter, sent me your daughter’s article. When she mentioned the Chinese tradition of leaving a nickel at the cemetery, it sparked memories. My late brother, William (Buddy) Carter, attended Tommy’s funeral and brought home a nickel. My mother, Sarah Carter, kept it, and while discussing it with Nathan, we recalled it was in a small white jar. Nathan remembered it being a Victory nickel, with a black top.
When my mother moved in with me at 87 and passed away at 90, she brought her belongings, including a metal box with important papers and coins. After our conversation jogged my memory, I retrieved the box and found the jar, labeled with a Pepsodent face cream sticker. To my surprise, it contained not just one but four Victory nickels. Initially, I thought of sending one to your daughter and I would be delighted to do so if she’d like.”
Just a few days later, on Christmas, my mother handed me an envelope with a festive card featuring Santa with a towering stack of gifts. Inside was a handwritten note from Ms. Carter: “I am thrilled to share this with Jessica.” Along with her message, I uncovered a small packet—a nickel, carefully tucked within a folded piece of paper.
As I held the coin, I pondered if it was indeed the same nickel my mourning family had placed in a small white envelope 66 years ago, gathered around a table in disbelief as they prepared for a boy’s funeral. The truth of whether this was the same coin that Emily’s brother took from the cemetery—where I had recently visited Tommy’s grave—may never be known. What truly matters is the connection that transcends time, reminding us that lives intertwine in unexpected ways. Tommy’s life and death resonated with another boy that day, prompting Nathan to keep this memento, which was later preserved by his mother and eventually returned to my family.
This poignant journey of a simple nickel illustrates how our stories, though fragmented by time and loss, can find their way back to us, creating a beautiful tapestry of shared memories.
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In summary, the journey of the nickel serves as a reminder of our interconnectedness through time, bridging past and present in ways we may never fully understand.