The Ring

I remember like it was yesterday.  We were going to spend the day downtown eating at the Taste of Chicago and with the purpose of ring shopping at some point.  He was nonchalant about it.  Like it was no big deal.  I remember when he suggested it, I acted calm and cool but down deep I was thinking about what this meant.  Forever.  This guy. A guy who got me.  Humored me. Put up with me. And at his core, loved me. We knew that we saw a forever together.  And he knew that I needed to have a say in the ring that I would wear forever.  He knew that I would want to pick it out and that it was important to me to have a say in the style, the cut and all.   We laughed as we did it and talked about what I liked and didn’t as the jeweler slid ring after ring on my finger.  It felt weird on my finger.  Heavy.  Misplaced.

I picked out that ring almost 8 years ago today.  I knew the minute I saw it I wanted it to be mine.  Mine because I loved the solitaire stone and the band with diamonds on every single surface of it.  I knew one band and at some point two would complete the most beautiful piece of jewelry I would ever wear.  The piece of jewelry that would be with me for the rest of my life.  I knew that because of my attachment to things with tradition and history that I would be sentimentally attached to that ring the minute I got it.  And I was.  And still am.  It represents the beginning of a life with a man I am madly in love with and the life we have created together since I got that piece of jewelry.  I wore that ring to buy houses, have babies, teach and coach kids and everything else that comes with life.

Today my finger feels empty. Missing something.  The symbol of our beginning.   Thursday it broke and so did I.  I was lifting a weight plate over my head laying on a bench while I working my abs and my hand wrapped around the weight it hit the floor harder than I anticipated.   The finger smashed between the plate and the floo. I heard a pop, felt an instant sensation of pain and saw blood. I walked out of Body Pump unsure of what happened.  I was shaking and scared.  I thought my finger was broken.  Never did I imagine my ring would shatter, diamonds would fall out and my finger bloodied as I maneuvered it off.  It hurt but my heart hurt more.


That ring that has been on my finger for more than 8 years in an instant was broken.  I called him before I even got out of the gym.

“My finger. My ring just snapped in half”.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t care. My ring. It’s broken and it’s ruined. I am just so sorry”

“I don’t care about your ring. We can replace it. It’s insured. I’m worried about you.  Calm down. I can come home”

This man, my man is such a good soul.  I was so sad about my ring and he was only worried about me.  I sobbed knowing that the ring he bought with so many promises that were attached will never be on my hand again.  That the ring I wore in to the hospital to have babies won’t be on my hand as I raise them. That ring that has been a constatn accessory to my outfit whether it’s workout clothes or a black dress will never be on my hand again.

Yes, we will get it fixed and most likely get a new one.  The damage appears to dictate that.  And while a joke about an upgrade sounds fun, it’s that ring that I want.  The ring that started it all.