For each of us, there are the things that help to make us feel safe and secure. For some, it may be the make up which they apply to help them feel the beauty that is already there. For others, it might be the seatbelt that without they are unable to pull out of the parking spot.
I understand the seatbelt more than the first scenario. As an ex-ICU nurse, I have attempted to transfer the need for the seatbelt to my children. It won’t be long before BoBo is driving and it is my hope that he will feel naked without being securely strapped in.
But, today, my safety and security is distant for another reason. My ring finger has been stripped of the ring that has resided there form 16 years. As I move about, I feel it’s absence intensely as I have been staring at my wedding ring more often in the past few weeks. The solution is not as easy as it might seem.
On Wednesday, which was a scheduled non-running day, I filled my lunch break with a long overdue trip to the jeweler. My intense admiration for my ring made me want to have it cleaned and the setting checked. It wasn’t so surprising that the gold, holding the diamonds, had worn down to a compromising point. I vaguely remember being told that it was wearing down during my last trip to the store.
I stood there, on the verge of tears, telling the nice lady that my husband had just died and that I couldn’t possibly leave the ring with her for any period of time. She, trying to understand, told me to just be careful not to bang it a lot. I left with my ring in place just as the tears began to stream down my cheeks.
Later that night, I was back in the garage going through the boxes. I’ve been working hard most nights and weekends sorting out the junk from the treasures. I have yet to find the poem of his that sent me to the garage in the first place, but I have found a lot more.
Anyhow, the more I worked, the more I thought about the ring and what could happen if I were to hit it too hard. So this morning, I took off my ring for repairs. Afterwards, I kept looking at my bare hand.
Suddenly I found myself thinking about those check boxes on the forms that seem to present throughout life. Would I really have to check “single” again? I still feel married; it just so happens that I am married to someone who is no longer alive on earth. *whatever* There is a level of safety and comfort in being married. I guess I will just avoid the forms for a while. I’m not ready for the check boxes until I can reconcile what I am now. I’m not exactly single, but is it a lie to say that I am married? Can I draw in a “widowed” box?
As I sat at YaYa’s baseball game, looking at the Fathers and Mothers around me, I hid my left hand. I know that it is strange, but I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea of why my wedding ring is missing. I shouldn’t care, but I do.