I’ll have been married twelve years this coming July and for half of that time I’ve kept my wedding far, far away from my finger. I hate rings. Hate them. They are annoying and they catch on things and dig into my skin.
Actually, I hate all jewelry. What’s the point? God made me pretty. I don’t need sparkly things catching the light to distract from all of… this:
So, when I joined Weight Watchers six years ago and lost a bunch of weight and my fingers went skinny, my ring wouldn’t fit anymore. Joy. I waved my hand or moved quickly and the ring went flying. Overjoy. I happily put the ring away, in my wife’s own jewelry box.
“Sorry, sweetheart. It just doesn’t fit anymore.”
“But Brock,” she said. “You could go get it resized.”
“La la la la. I can’t hear you! La la la la…”
When pressed, I told her, sure, I’ll get it resized one day. I mean, why not tell her that? Promises for some unknown point in the future are the easiest to make. Did I actually intend to get it resized? Of course not. Oh, sure, I told myself I did. I didn’t want to be a liar. But come on. I’d have thrown that thing in Mount Doom if possible.
Years came and years went. The ring lay forgotten until it passed out of memory and into legend. (Sorry, leaving Lord of the Rings kick starting… now.) Even my wife had accepted the fact that I would never again wear my wedding ring.
And then yesterday was my wife’s birthday. Last year was a difficult year for us, but especially for her. The one bright spot was the birth of our third daughter, but everything else went sort of, shall we say, sucky. I wanted to do something extra nice for Erin this year. I wanted to show her just how much she means to me and how much I love her.
And what’s the greatest show of love? Sacrifice.
So, I got the ring resized and yesterday morning I presented Erin with a box containing jewelry. For me. And I put the ring back on.
Never to be taken off again.
I still hate it. The ring bugs me and I’ll never, ever get used to it. I already know this because this is my second go at it. So, now more than ever, the ring is proof of the great love I have for my wife. And the look of happiness on her face as she slipped it back on my finger was all the proof I needed that she feels the same way.
Happy birthday, sweetheart.