I keep rubbing my ring finger on my left hand. It doesn’t feel right, hasn’t ever since my wedding band has gone missing. I could put my wedding ring on, but it’s not the same. I’m not used to the jewels on it so it always scratches my other fingers. Plus between working in a power plant and school, I’m too worried I’ll damage it or lose a gem.
I walk into my bathroom and look again since I can’t think of anywhere else to check. I absentmindedly look around the room trying to remember where I took it off. The only times I ever do is when I wash my hands or take a shower, but I always put it in a certain spot when I do and it’s in neither of those places.
Without thinking, I bring my right hand up to my left to twirl my ring like I always do when I think. Except it isn’t there and I just rub my finger, bringing my attention back to the fact it is missing. I’m not sure what’s worse, the not having it or the overbearing sense that something is wrong with it not on my finger. Who knew something so small could have such an impact when it wasn’t there? I look at the almost permanent tan line that silhouettes where it would normally sit. Flipping my hand so my palm is up I look at the calluses that formed from the years of wear.
I’ve worn my band for nearly 9 years straight, only swapping it out for my wedding ring for special occasions. Josh was a little disappointed when I mentioned I wanted one a few weeks after we first got married. He took that to mean I didn’t like the wedding ring he’d picked out for me. Nothing was farther from the truth, I love my wedding ring. But at the time I was an electrician in the Navy, fancy rings usually didn’t fair well in that environment.
A lot has happened in those 9 years: a deployment, six moves, three kids, friends getting married, friends getting divorced- many of them the same ones for trying to talk us out of marrying in the first place because they didn’t think we’d make it. Honestly there are times I’m surprised we didn’t end up like a lot of people I know. Everyone I know who’s gotten divorced loved each other, or at least they seemed to. There was a bit of time I was worried we’d be just like them, it was really rough for a while. Part of us hashed it out for the girls, but that wasn’t the only reason. I don’t want them growing up with parents who fight and if things hadn’t resolved, I wouldn’t have hesitated pulling them out of there. But for as bad as things were, it was nothing we couldn’t work through. We focused on fixing what we could and made things work. Which thank God for that, since there’s no way without him I could get through school, working, raising three girls. He’s become such a rock of support, and I know I mean the same to him.
“Any luck?”
My husband’s voice brings me out my thoughts. I look up to the mirror and see him standing in the doorway. He’s been looking for it too, in between picking things up around the house.
I sigh and shake my head no.
“It’s around and if not, we’ll get another one,” he replies with a shrug before walking away. It sucks not having it, but it’s just a ring. Realistically, I can always get another one. We did when he lost his a few months back after my youngest forgot where she hid it (he found it in the junk drawer under the super glue after we had bought the replacement). It’s an expense I’d rather not have, but easy to swing if it stays gone.
My thoughts shift to the ring sitting on the necklace I’m wearing. I look at it, hanging next to the football charm. We can get me another ring, he’s still here to do that, we’re both still here for that. The important parts, our marriage, our trust, each other… we’re still around. I take a deep breath and shake my head before my thoughts get too dark. ‘Focus on what’s important,’ I remind myself.
I find my ring days later, buried in the mat in front of the shower.
——————–
Not everyone chooses to wear wedding rings for one reason or another. For some it is cultural, for others, they just don’t like wearing jewelry of any kind.
Many people in industrial environments choose not to for safety reasons. A common workplace injury known as degloving can occur. It happens when jewelry such as rings and watches get caught on edges of equipment. If you don’t know what that is, I recommend against looking it up. The pictures of stripped off skin can be extremely graphic. Working for so long in an industrial environment, it’s a hazard I have been warned about and had beaten into me at every safety brief for the last 10 years.
Others enjoy wearing their rings. To them it could symbolize commitment or as a status symbol. To still to others rings symbolize a family history, a connection to family members who have passed.
——————–
I panic as I search my car. I just had it. It was on my finger. I remember playing with it as I was sitting at the table during breakfast. Josh made a comment about losing it if I wasn’t careful. But I had been, I’m always careful with Dad’s ring.
“Mommy! Are we leaving yet,” my oldest yells from her booster seat in the back.
“Just a minute Emily!” I snap harsher than I intended, but I can’t help it. I can’t lose this ring. I can’t…
“Mommy go to Gramma house,” my youngest pleads.
“No, we’re not going to Grandma’s,” I mutter, digging under my seat and the space between the cushion and the center console. We’ve been sitting in my mom’s driveway for five minutes as I search my car. Josh ran across the street to the diner we ate at, just in case I dropped in there. I know I didn’t, but it’s nowhere to be found in the car.
I take a step back and run my hands through my hair. I can’t leave before I find this, but the cold is starting to get to me. It’s the middle of December and it’s freezing outside. I have the car on and the heat blasting for the girls, but with the door open, it’s not doing much. Their whining is as much from the cold as it is from boredom.
Calm down, I need to think.
I had it in the restaurant, I was twirling it while I paid the check at the front counter. I was wearing it when I put my jacket on, it had slipped off my finger and I barely caught it. I remember my husband had given me a look, he has been saying for weeks I need to put it on a chain. Too bad I don’t have any strong enough for the gold ring.
After my jacket, I put my gloves on… my gloves! It was when I was taking them off I noticed the ring was gone!
Frantically I reach in and grab my right glove. I pull it out of the cup holder I had placed them and the ring comes flying out, landing on the driver’s seat with a small thud. I snatch it and hold it tightly in my palm. I tell my girls Mommy will be right back before shutting the door. I run across the street to let Josh know I found it.
He’s both relieved that it was found and annoyed that it was lost in the first place.
Christmas two weeks later he gives me a necklace with a small football charm with a small amount of his ashes inside, so Dad and I can keep watching Michigan games together. I put his ring on it so it sits next to the charm.
——————–
It’s hard to find a lot on the history of wedding rings from a reliable source on the internet. Most of the results are bridal sites or jewelers trying to link the article into a sale. The entry I found on Wikipeida states: “It is commonly believed that the first examples of wedding rings were found in ancient Egypt. Relics dating to 6,000 years ago, including papyrus scrolls, are evidence of the exchange of braided rings of hemp or reeds between spouses. Ancient Egypt considered the circle to be a symbol of eternity, and the ring served to signify the perpetual love of the spouses. This was also the origin of the custom of wearing the wedding ring on the ring finger of the left hand, because the ancient Egyptians believed that this finger enclosed a special vein that was connected directly to the heart, denominated in Latin the “Vena amoris”.
The Western traditions of wedding rings can be traced to ancient Rome and Greece, and were first associated with the marital dowry and later with a promise of fidelity. The modern exchange of rings derived from the customs of Europe in the Middle Ages as part of Christendom. In both the United States and Canada, wedding rings were initially only worn by wives, but became customary for both spouses during the 20th century.”
The rings themselves vary as much as the people who wear them. Some are very gaudy and covered in jewels. Some are just simple bands. Some people view a high priced ring as a status symbol while others enjoy the simplicity of a simple ring. Some rings are family heirlooms, passed down from one generation to another.
——————–
When I think of my dad, his wedding ring isn’t the first thing I think of. Usually it’s him still in his suit after a long day at work. He was always working either at the law firm or helping friends and family with legal questions. But that meant he was always coming home late, and he was always in his suit wearing his expensive cologne. It’s the same scent all the other attorneys he works with have. He huffs and rolls his eyes when I ask if they all hand it out so they can all smell the same. Mom will chime in it’s to cover the fact his deodorant smells like baby powder. He grunts at the teasing before digging around the fridge for his dinner. He always gets home after we eat because he works so late.
His ring has been the thing I associate the most with him even though Dad didn’t wear it a lot when I was a kid. Thinking back, I really don’t remember him wearing it until I was in high school. It’s a gold ring and has a small diamond (gem) inside a diamond (shape). I am currently wearing it on a necklace because it’s too big for me and I refuse to have it resized.
July 5th, 2015 I am at his bedside in the hospital staring at the machines breathing for him. The pastor who I have known since I was a child was there a few days before, helping comfort us with our decision to take him off life support. His hands shake as he tries to cover the early onset of Parkinson’s. I’m not supposed to know it, but it’s becoming more difficult for him to hide. The pastor’s words still echo in my head and I know they always will. “While you may be making the choice here, if his organs are shutting down God has already made His decision.”
At this moment it is my mom, her baby sister, and my cousin who are with me. My aunt is crying, but she cries at everything. Watching my older cousin, Steve, cry is rough, considering he used to take on bullies for me and I have never seen anything get to him. Dad is sedated. The doctors say he can still hear us, might even understand a bit of what we say, but it’s hard to tell how much is getting through. Steve slips his hand into Dad’s and says quietly around the emotion in his throat, “Love you Uncle Paul.”
I see Dad squeeze his hand in response and pretend I don’t see Steve discreetly wipe tears away at the last interaction they will have together.
“Does he know what’s happening tomorrow,” my aunt whispers to my mom around the kleenex she’s using to wipe her nose.
“I told him, I’m not sure if he understood or heard me,” mom replies. She looks as drained as I feel. We’ve been here all week, but dad has been in the hospital since May. She’s holding his hand. With a sigh she looks down, slips his wedding band off his finger, and holds it out to me. I don’t want it. It’s not mine, it’s his. It’s wrong for me to take it, like grave robbing, but the victim is still alive. It’s his ring, he still needs to wear it, he’s not gone yet. I take the ring from her and put it on. It’s big but it’s fine for now.
When my oldest sees me wearing it later she exclaims, “That’s grandpa’s ring! Why do you have it?” I have no idea how to answer my 4 year old’s question, so I just hug her and let my husband answer why mommy is crying.
The next day I’m gripping it instead of his hand as they turn the machines off. Dad’s eyes open and he looks around and it looks like he’s frantically trying to say something. Josh leans down to him and whispers next to his ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of all of them.”
He relaxes, closes his eyes. His face slowly drains of color. Minutes later the doctor quietly enters, checks for a pulse, and softly declares his time of death.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” All I can think is this kid is too young to be this understanding.
I can feel the ring cutting into my palm as I grip it.
Katee's Writing 