Sunday, September 25, 2011

The Ring

In October of 1994, my then boyfriend gave me a beautiful engagement ring. A perfect 1.25 karat solitaire diamond filled with fire sitting in a gold princess setting. I would stare at it for years after.

On our wedding day, I added it to it, a gold and white gold band that had been my mother's wedding ring when she and my father were still married. My idea was to give the ring a good home. And I have.

Sadly though, since I'm gained so much weight over 16 years of marriage, I can no long wear either. In fact, I took both of them off my swollen fingers during my pregnancy and have not been able to get them back on. I've, embarrassingly enough, worn them on my pinkie for my sister's weddings since. Other than that, they remain in their box, in the safe.

A few months after my daughter was born, my husband suggested I look for a new band. It didn't have to be a replacement wedding band, but a "mommy" band. I found one I fell in love with. A three band rolling ring with two bands of silver (one of each of us) and one band of gold (for my daughter). I have worn it on my left hand ring finger ever since.

Until Thursday.

Since working at the local elementary school, I come home from work with grimy hands. I usually take my ring off to wash my hands and then give the ring a good scrub. But not this week. What I remember is taking it off as usual and thinking for the last three days that it was in the same place I left it. But it's not there. Did I actually leave it there? Did I put it somewhere else? Did I lose it along the way?

It's gone.

I made a thorough scan of all the places it could have been. Now is the time when I have to start looking in all the places that make no sense at all. And that is just too many places. My head hurts.

And my heart hurts.

In the meantime, my bare finger is a constant reminder that I was careless. I don't deserve to find it. That's the way I feel right now.

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