Ever since I married the love of my life eleven months ago, I started having recurring nightmares. My nightly afflictions all seemed to revolve around the same theme – losing my wedding ring. One night, I was being chased by a thief. I punched him and escaped but lost my wedding ring in the chaos. Another night, I was swimming at the bottom of the ocean, and my ring slipped off before I reached the water’s surface. One night recently, I was forced to surrender my ring as ransom to the kidnapper who had taken my husband hostage. Whatever my dream scenario, I ended up ringless. I’d awaken from each nightmare with a pounding heart, covered in sweat. Instinctively, I’d reach down and touch my left ring finger, reassuring myself that my ring was indeed still there.
One morning, I decided to divulge my deep, dark nightmares to my husband, Grif. “It’s just a dream, babe, there’s no need to worry so much,” he calmly scolded me in the middle of a morning yawn. Unconvinced, I knew that my dreams meant something. My subconscious fears and anxieties sometimes bubbled to the surface in unusual ways, and this seemed to be one of them.
I loved my wedding ring. Grif and I picked it out on our birthday cruise, six months before our wedding. Fueled by one too many tequila sodas, Grif impulsively pulled me into the ship’s jewelry store one night as we were making our way back to our cabin from the casino. “Look at this one, babe!” Grif gasped excitedly, pointing at the glass countertop. Unsure of which ring he was referring to, my eyes landed on a thin white gold band studded with seven small diamonds. They were arranged in a V or chevron that I knew would elegantly frame my engagement ring. Seven diamonds for good luck. When the sales attendant slipped the band on my ring finger, I knew it was the one. The stones glittered beneath the bright store lights as I waved my fingers, mesmerized by their shine. I had initially thought I wanted a simple, plain band to accentuate my engagement ring, but this just looked so glamorous, and bonus! there was no sales tax in international waters. “We’ll take it!” Grif said triumphantly, raising my left hand in his. For the remainder of the cruise, I kept checking on my ring, sequestered in our cabin safe. It took all my effort to put the ring back in its box each time, and to not wear it, even though I was tempted to.
For our wedding ceremony, I bought a small, navy ring box on Etsy. The outside was customized with our initials, A & G, and inside, our rings sat side by side in plushy blue velvet. After Grif recited his vows, he plucked my sparkling wedding ring from the navy box and placed it on my finger, and there it remained for what I presumed would be eternity.
Fast forward eleven months later, and I awoke one Monday morning, the sun streaming through the window with my husband by my side. As I reached for my buzzing phone, to my horror, I realized that not one, but two, of the seven small diamonds were missing from my wedding band. My nightmare had come true! Tears welled in my eyes as I gazed at the gaping holes in my wedding ring. My mind started spinning backwards over the last forty-eight hours, trying to make sense of the unbelievable. It had been an intense weekend of home renovations – perhaps the ring brackets had loosened when I wielded a screwdriver while installing our new curtain rods? I didn’t know; I certainly felt screwed. Or maybe I had unknowingly banged my ring while lifting weights at the gym? I considered that this might be a good new excuse to not go to the gym in the future. Or perhaps the weekend yard work was the culprit, and the stones dislodged when they were caught in the brush? I didn’t know. Regardless of how, my precious diamonds were gone. It seemed like my luck had run out. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll fix it!” my husband said, patting my hand.
That entire morning, I crawled around our house, my face pressed close to our tile floor, searching for my missing diamonds. I knew the two stones were less than a tenth of a carat apiece, but my desperation to find them had nothing to do with their material value. I knew it was futile, like searching for a needle in a haystack, but I had to try. Occasionally, my heart would flutter, only to sink again upon realizing that the hard shard beneath my destroyed kneecap was a piece of crystal cat litter rather than my lost diamond.
After scouring the entire house, I lay down on the kitchen floor and sobbed. My curious cat stared, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Between my sobs, I thought about all that had changed in the past year, all that I had let go of. I had to let go of my last name and my entire prior identity. That was a big one that I’m still coming to terms with. I had to let go of some of my single girlfriends who didn’t understand the sanctity of marriage. Good riddance. And I even let go of twelve inches of my hair, donating it to Locks of Love, an outward expression of my major life transition into marriage. With all these changes, I didn’t think I’d have to relinquish my wedding ring as well. It felt like there wasn’t anything left for me to give, and still, the Universe wanted more.
Every morning, I wonder if my diamonds will miraculously appear again in my wedding ring. Every day, I am distracted by a glint of sparkle out of the corner of my eye, only to be disappointed again. I must remember that what I still have is my husband’s love. A wedding ring is just a symbol, albeit an important one, and is not a true indication of whether our marriage is intact or not. Despite my fears, despite my anxieties, and despite my real-life nightmares, loving my partner is not something I will ever have to let go of. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
love, Lexy
