Unlike most code-word questions I ask, I must admit that yesterday’s category came saddled with motives that were, frankly, ulterior. You see, I have lost my wedding ring – it is gone, gone, gone, and although it’s been about two months, I can’t think about it without plunging into a micro-depression.
It was the perfect ring for me. I’d always liked Lindsay’s wedding ring, something he found in Italy – a big, fat restored wedding band from the actual Roman Empire – and wanted something like it. Tessa conjured perfection with a ring that looked like three fused together: the outer bands were gold, the middle platinum, while still remaining masculine and un-showy.
When I took a writing sabbatical for a few days in May, I remember having the ring as I entered the motel room, and then never seeing it again. As astronomical luck would have it, that particular motel room was scheduled for renovation the next day (after not having been touched for 30+ years), so when I went back, the entire place had been gutted, and workers were putting up new drywall.
Even before that, I knew… I knew the second I hadn’t seen it, that it was definitively gone. Not “oh I’ll find it eventually like I always do” gone, but GONE. It has an inscription inside with private meaning to my wife and me, and I don’t know how it could ever be replicated.
I feel naked without it. The Buddhists teach that all material goods are unimportant, and I try not to get hung up on imbuing too much meaning into a thing, and accepting the impermanence of the world, but FUCK. I still have a bunch of Mad Magazines from 1979. Can I trade them in for my wedding ring?
holding Lucy during her first rainstorm on the terrace in Brooklyn, May 2005