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Missing Wedding Bands

In 1996 standing on the Westminster Bridge with the city of London and Big Ben all decked out for Christmas, Mr. G asked me to be his wife. He had a small diamond ring that had been my Grandmothers. It was vaguely sentimental, but mostly pragmatic as we were both young and our savings were meager.

In 2007 Mr. G and I went to a favorite jewelry store and he bought me a diamond band to go with the ring. Like the engagement ring it was delicate. I loved it as a symbol of what we’d built in ten years together.

I lost my rings.

This isn’t a phrase that I’ve never uttered. I often take my rings off and leave them in my bedroom for days at a time. I’ll put a book over them and find them only when I clean up. I’ll go a week without wearing a ring, and as my wedding band suntan line begins to fade I’ll feel uncomfortable and put them back on.

This time though I think they’re really gone and I can’t sleep. It’s been a few weeks and I remember them being on the mantle downstairs. I then remember thinking that I should put them somewhere else and I distinctly remember NOT picking them up and moving them.

Now I think of the one stranger that was in my home and I think he stole my rings. But then I don’t actually think he did. I’m still working with the thought that I’ve put them somewhere. When I return to Los Angeles I’ll open all the drains in the house, sift through the vacuum cleaner bag and then call a hypnotist.

I’m not particularly sentimental. Or at least I thought I wasn’t, but those rings were mine to fidget with. They marked the years. I’m wearing the solid platinum band I was married in, but still my hands feel naked, and it has nothing to do with the diamonds.


7 thoughts on “Missing Wedding Bands”

  1. A mantra that’s worked for me in the past is “Nothing is lost, it is simply not revealed.” Give it a try if you’re not averse to such things. But if so, give it some time.

    Having said that, I threw my wedding band away in 2007 — accidentally. It was the trash day after Christmas and I was breaking up the massive styrofoam packaging a gift had come in. When I’d finished, a bunch of little styro bits were static-clinging to the sleeves of my shirt so I proceeded to do some serious flailing and at some point during my wedding band flew to its freedom. Whether it landed in the recycle bin or sailed somewhere into the yard/street is unknown.

    The day after the trash had been picked up and I had frantically combed the yard/street, I toyed with the idea of just going to the store and getting a replacement, but my wife came in to the office the next day not long after I’d realized it was missing and found me moping at my desk and asked why I was so blue. I choked up telling her what happened. I think she called me a doof, but otherwise was unphazed by my fail, god bless her.

    The next day I got a replacement on my way home from work. But there’s not a time in the yard that goes by that I don’t look around for the original.

  2. Ugh.  I’m sorry.  I can be a bit absentminded and any time I’m on the hunt for my rings, I get sick to my stomach.  I know it’s kind of dumb and it’s a thing and that my husband loves me no matter what but, damn! I’m with you…I’m way more sentimental about those symbols than I’m willing to admit.  Best of luck finding them. 

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