Unbroken Band
I was cleaning the shared space my daughter and I sleep in. What once was filled with the belongings of my dear roommate's daughter, is now being stuffed with unicorns and wine glasses. I’ve done my best to make it comfortable for both of us. When one thing gets out of place, well, it feels like shit is everywhere. I was putting some jewelry away from my week and I started to examine some of the pieces my mother had left for me. Pearls, sapphire bracelets, a tennis bracelet my dad had given her. Then I began to examine the piece my soon-to-be-ex had given me, and the grief came rushing back into the room.
I had not worn it for at least 9 years. I remember examining it in La Jolla as the sun hit it like a prism and the light danced over our faces in that cafe. The magic that was in that ring made me feel the colors of life and adventure between us. Waves crashing over the rocks, hands holding onto our lattes, talking about the future. His smile gleaming as he looked at me. His hazel eyes studying my face as I shared my hopes for us over the next year. I can still smell the mix of coast and coffee. We were so poor, but our dreams were not.
And now, as I live in that future, I see how that color was chemical and its influence barely visible.
I would have worn it every day if I could have. Three major moves in a short amount of time, barely surviving in California, and just trying to get through life together caused us both to put on some weight our first year of marriage. I had asked him many times to get the ring resized. The practical outweighed the dream, and it made sense. We weren't in the best place financially and it would be good motivation for me to lose weight. He believed I could do it. Which made me think, if I love myself enough, or I loved us enough, I would. After years of failure though I realized, maybe I just can't. The ring would only make its way back on my finger if we resized it.
As it laid for years in the dark of his cigar box, the stressors of life, traumatic events like the death of my mother, or the 87 days in the NICU with our premature daughter, created a superficial bond between us. We were wounded strangers trying to get to friendly territory, not lovers floating in the freezing Atlantic encouraging each other on.
I felt like the longer I didn't have that ring on, the further our vows drifted into the abyss. I wanted that unbroken precious metal to somehow bind us together, like a life raft being thrown to us both to remind us that love will find a way. Love will keep us together. You would think this symbol of your love would be something you would want to expand as you both change. You would invest the time to grow closer together, work out your differences, and pay whatever it takes to keep it going because marriage is priceless. As my wedding ring continued to lay in the dark, it was almost like we were both trying to ignore and forget the truth about the state of our relationship.
Once in a while, I would feel it missing from my finger. Typically around our anniversary. As my gift, I would ask for my ring to be resized. And every time, I was either ignored or told we didn’t have the money. Finally, we learned that it would cost about $200.00. Love has a price and that day I was broke. He would not budge, or accept the reality that I had changed.
As I look at that ring today, the light has gone out from it. Those colors on the wall, a memory I have to recall. But I am instantly filled with anger. It did not have to be this way and I am learning to accept the loss and grief of a marriage that didn’t evolve. I try putting the ring back on hoping it will fit. It does not. I changed. I grew. It does not budge. This symbol of love today shows me not an unbroken bond, but a will that would not bend or accept that his wife had changed. And as I review the past 10 years, in my eyes, so had he.
