Today I lost my husband’s wedding ring. I am grieving this loss and reliving the moment when I lost him. That ring is not just a ring to me. If I had lost my husbands wedding band and he were still alive I would feel awful, but it would be just a ring. A very special ring, but just a ring. But he’s not here and it’s not just a ring. It’s one of the few things I have left of him. It wasn’t just a ring. It isn’t just a ring. There will never be another ring to be worn on his finger. That ring was his. He wore it every single day since the day we were married. Two years, nine months, eight days. He wore it every single day, I don’t think he ever took it off. And since the day of his funeral when the ring was returned to me, I wore it on my finger. Every single day since it was given to me. I never took it off. I played with it on my finger a lot, but I never took it off. And now today it is gone. And it’s like losing him all over again. It gave me comfort to wear his ring. It was like I was carrying a part of him with me. Kind of like a security blanket, I just knew that having that ring kept him with me in some way. And I know that most people will tell me that he is with me with or without the ring, but those people don’t know. When you lose someone, when the person you love dies, all you have left of them in the physical world is their things. And maybe one day it will become true that I don’t need his physical things, but right now I still do. Because the physical world is the only place that we, as people, are experienced in living. And when someone you love dies, when the person you shared your life and your world with is gone… You suddenly find yourself holding onto them in ways that even you can’t understand. And it takes practice. And it’s hard. It is so hard. Learning to live without the one you love is excruciating and trying. It starts out as a constant struggle to simply keep from drowning. And as time goes on you get a little better at keeping your head above water, but every once in a while a wave hits and pulls you back under.

Today this wave hit me. And I am sitting in my living room amid all of my things hoping to God that this ring will miraculously show up in front of me. Maybe it will be found, maybe it won’t. Tonight I will cry. I will let it be ok to cry myself to sleep and wake up in the morning and cry some more. My daughter will see me cry and she will hurt for her mommy, but she will be ok. And I will be ok. I will piece myself back together on another day. For tonight, though, I’m not ok. Tonight I’m broken.

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