"Love's Labour's Lost"

So, I lost my wedding ring. I've been putting off telling Brandon, hoping it would turn up. It's been a month, which is the longest amount of time I've misplaced it without it showing up. I know how and when I lost it, and a general trajectory of where it might be (somewhere between my house and Twain's parking lot). I stuck it in my pocket the day my car broke down because I had to root around under the hood and didn't want my jewelry to get scratched or in the way. When I finally got home after a hot, sticky, frustrating and expensive 5 hours (Mechanic: "Well, if this happens again, the only option you have is to get a new car"), I peeled off my skinny jeans and my heavy costume cocktail ring popped out of my pocket. The pocket of my stupid, blasted spandex/lycra/denim pants had turned inside out during all of my movement and commotion that afternoon. My wedding band, which is much smaller and lighter, was nowhere to be found.

I'm devastated.

Brandon designed the ring himself, and it was made for us by a company that makes eco-conscious, socially-responsible, recycled fine jewelry. Of course it has tons of sentimental value, not to mention the monetary value. I didn't want an engagement ring for feminist and financial reasons, so my wedding band represented both (I wore it during my engagement). It's beautiful and simple, with diamonds flush against the band and tiny beading around the edges. Pure white gold is soft, so it had adapted to fit my finger, which I discovered is not actually round, but kindof oblong or oval-shaped.

The day I got it is like the second-to-last scene in a romantic comedy, as well. Brandon was coming to visit me at my parents' house right before Christmas, and had arranged for the company to ship it there so he could give it to me during his visit. Unfortunately, that was 2006 when all of the horrible blizzards and ice storms blanketed much of the Midwest. My ring was coming from Idaho. Brandon had to keep making up excuses to leave the house to go to the Post Office to see if it had arrived. It still hadn't arrived a week later, after his visit had ended. However, I'm from a very small town where everyone knows everyone else's business and service people come to your house if you need them too because they go to church with you or you babysat their kid and they love you. So, the Post Master hand-delivered the ring to my house on Christmas morning because he knew how important it was and had been along on this anxious, crazy ride with Brandon and my parents for over two weeks. Pure Christmas Love and Joy.

So, that's the story of my ring - the symbol of my love and eternal commitment to my husband. I hate to think it was lost randomly on some stupid day when I made the decision to temporarily store it in sticky, tight pants on a hot, frantic day.
I hadn't been wearing anything on my ring finger, hoping that he wouldn't notice. He didn't say anything. But, I didn't like not having a wedding ring on, and I didn't want to keep lying-by-omission to him. I inherited my great-grandmother's wedding band, so today I started wearing it on my ring finger. It's very traditional; a thick gold band, very simple. It has my great-grandparents initials in curly script on the inside. I have the same initials as my great-grandfather, so it feels somewhat like my own. It's a good replacement, but it's still a replacement. Brandon's upset, like me, of course, but is showing grace, love and patience to me about it. Which represents our marriage more than a ring, I think.