May 29th, 2023

I lost Scott’s wedding ring today.

Spoiler Alert: I found it later; don’t panic (like I did). And Godwink ahead if you choose to keep reading.

I have been wearing it on my thumb since the last day that I saw him. He gave it to me for safekeeping prior to surgery. I didn’t know I’d be keeping it safe for him forever.

It’s been a “worry stone” of sorts for me since I began wearing it. I use my other hand to twist it round and round nearly constantly. It’s a reminder of him. It’s something I have left of him, of us. He was so proud of it because I chose it for him and it has deer antler embedded into it. I chose it because it spoke to me, it said a little something about who he was. And he loved it because I chose it thoughtfully, specifically for him and likened to him and his tastes.

It’s really heavy. I wasn’t expecting that when I ordered it. Many times I have offered to buy him one of those silicone bands to wear while at work and he would always say, “No, I want to wear this one; you chose it with your heart and I want it with me.” He never took it off. But that day he had to.

When I realized it was missing from my thumb, I did panic. Owen said “Try not to panic, mama. It’s in this house; we will find it.” I knew I had been wearing it just beforehand, within the hour at least. I had cleaned out the fridge, putting some things in a large, black trash bag for garbage pickup tomorrow. I had loaded the dishwasher. I’d sat on the couch. I had fed the fish. And, as I cried, I searched each place, over and over again. I emptied the entire trash bag, piece by piece, onto my kitchen floor and searched and shook the entire thing, turning the bag inside out. My sweet Owen came and helped me turn over the couch and search between cushions. As I got discouraged, I said a few times “It’s okay. It’s lost, son. There’s nothing more we can do. Hopefully it will turn up soon.” But he kept searching and trying to help me retrace my steps, keeping me on task. I searched the trash bag two more times because, as heavy as the ring is, it should have made a loud noise if it hit the floor and rolled so falling in the trash bag made the most sense. All to no avail.

We finally stopped looking and I sat on the couch, staring into space and realizing that I had now lost another piece of him, even though it’s not actually him. A memento? A reminder? None of these seem right because it was chosen just for him. It belonged on him.

I agonized over whether to put it on his finger prior to the funeral. He never wanted to be without it. He wanted to wear it always. He would have wanted it on his finger. But ultimately I decided that my husband, above all else, wanted me to feel safe and happy. He was no longer in that body but I could keep this one little piece here with me and he would want me to if it brought me any measure of peace in his absence. And then I lost it. I lost his ring that he loved.

I’ve lost quite a bit of weight since May 9th. This morning I had been washing my hands and it nearly fell off. I thought, even my thumbs are getting skinnier…crazy. I nearly took it off then but I have become accustomed to having it on and I didn’t want to be separated from it. It’s strange how important tangible things are in the absence of love lost.

I rose from the couch, probably an hour later to go to the restroom. And, lo and behold, the ring was IN MY PANTS (not a pocket, INSIDE). Apparently, when I had gone to the restroom earlier and had used my thumbs to pull my leggings back up, the ring had gotten trapped by the waistband and just pulled right off, resting just under the waistband. When I completed the same action this time but to pull them down, my thumb slid right into the ring again. (Don’t ask me how I didn’t feel it there. I suppose my skin had warmed it and it was being held snugly by the elastic waistband.)

Such a long time of searching, just to find that it was with me all along but I couldn’t feel it because I was in a panic, fretful over my loss and despair.

Isn’t God like that, though? I can’t feel Him near me these days. I try to pray. I try to worship. I try to sing. I try to search for Him so that He will come near. I try the most likely places (like church) that He should be (although I know full-well that He is everywhere). I’m so distracted by my searching, in a manner of speaking, that I forget that, even though I can’t feel Him, He is still here, so close to me that His warmth feels like my own. So, maybe I am feeling Him but I’m just looking for a more tangible way to realize it. I feel like I need to SEE the evidence to know it for sure. But the real evidence is already there. The real evidence is that He has been there every other time, without fail.