I didn’t know what to write about. It was a long day & I’m tired. I had forgotten that earlier in the week I’d read the writing workshop prompts from Mama Kat’s Losing It and thought to myself, “I should save one if these for Thursday.” I didn’t remember until I read this post and was reminded .
When I was a very young girl, my Grandma Alex used to sit next to me on the couch, her hands next to mine. I’d look at her wedding rings and think they were beautiful. She’d let me spin them around her finger. She never let me try them on, though. Grandpa had put those rings on her fingers; they only came off for the most important of reasons. She’d hold my hand and tell me that one day those rings would be mine.
When Grandma passed away some 15? years ago now, her sister Imogene escorted the funeral director to me, and in hushed tones, told him that it was grandmother’s stronger wish that I have her wedding rings, that we knew my grandfather had been adamant that she be buried with them (he put them on her finger & only the most important reasons would remove them), it was more right that I have those rings. She didn’t want to upset Grandpa but it would be best if after the service, before the casket was put in the hearse, that they bring those rings to me. Grandpa never had to know.
The funeral director nodded. Apparently such things were common, such requests were common. He said he completely understood and would be very discrete. He knew my grandparents; he knew Imogene. He trusted us.
As he walked away, Imogene and my other grandma conferred with each other, affirming the rightness of the plan. One of them said, “…and well you KNOW she wouldn’t have made it to the grace with those rings on. You know they’d be gone.” I nodded in agreement but at the same time, I couldn’t picture this man, who knew my grandparents, condoning any kind of theft.
True to his word, as we were walking out to our vehicles to make the trip to the cemetery, a young woman in a black skirt and a white shirt, walked up beside me and pressed a small red velvet bag into my hand. I could feel three rings inside: her original wedding band & engagement ring & the 25th anniversary set, which was worn over the original set (she had tiny fingers back then). I knew I had to get to Grandpa so I passed them off to my grandma & they disappeared into the recesses of her pocketbook.
When I got home to Nevada, I took the rings out of their bag. I wasn’t dating anyone & didn’t particularly care to date anyone again. There was a deep sadness in thinking that I might never get to wear them. Sometime later, much like I decided to do the things I wanted to do, I pulled them out and started wearing the 25th anniversary set on my right hand.
They were too beautiful to hide away on the off-chance that maybe one day someone would be worthy enough of the 50+ years legacy of love those rings contained.
I’ve worn them off and on for the last 15 years. As I gained and lost weight they came off or stayed on. When Sweet Husband and I started talking and thinking about marriage, I reminded him that I didn’t need rings because I already had them. When he proposed on the beach at Ft. Pickens, he didn’t have a ring. Didn’t have mine either. But as soon as I got back to Louisville, I twisted it onto my left ring finger.
We had it sized so it fits perfectly. It is complemented by Sweet Husband’s great grandmother’s wedding band (she loved her husband so much she married him twice). I’ve taken them off a time or two and while they aren’t the fanciest or biggest rings around, they fit.