In my jewelry box are three wedding rings. They are very significant to me, and they sit in my jewelry box instead of on my hand for many reasons.
I met my husband when we were both in 6th grade. We eventually became good friends and started dating our senior year. He was my prom date and you could say he’s my high school sweetheart.
We got married young in 1989, and we exchanged simple gold bands. They were inexpensive, but real gold, just the same. At that time, our rings represented our vows and visual proof that we had given ourselves to each other. Wearing our rings everyday was an outward symbol of our love and the ties that bound us together.
Gold bands get beat up over time. They get scratched and dented, and even lose their circular shape. Just like the early years of our marriage; we fought, argued, criticized and tried to change each other. We also found compromise, forgiveness and changed for each other in many ways.
I started to notice that my friends were sporting gorgeous engagement rings paired with wrap-around wedding settings. My old ring wasn’t looking so impressive. I was forgetting what it truly represented. Several anniversaries and two children later, we were able to afford to upgrade our rings. Our bands were replaced with ornate engravings for him and diamonds for me. The old bands were put away for safe keeping in my jewelry box. I think the new rings represented our desire to keep up with our friends and coworkers. They became merely accessories to our success.
Easter weekend of 2006, I was boating on a Florida lake with family and friends. I was loyally wearing my wedding ring, diamonds sparkling in the sun. In a fluke accident my left hand got caught in the ski rope. With two shattered fingers, I went into shock and fainted. My husband carried me off the boat and we rushed to the hospital. When the doctor announced he’d have to cut off the new diamond ring, neither of us cared. It wasn’t important. After surgery, to add two titanium plates and ten screws in my hand, and three months of physical therapy, I still don’t care about the ring. The warped and broken ring now sits with the other two.
Each Mother’s Day, Birthday or Anniversary, my husband asks if it is finally time we go ring shopping or look into repairs. Maybe one day we will, but there’s no rush.
In year 23 together, we’ve learned what’s truly important. We don’t need the symbol anymore. The band is now permanently around my heart.
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