The one ring

My husband and I have been together since 2002. I was homeless, and he had a home. He was jobless, and I had a job. We started as roommates, believe it or not. We met in recovery. I had a couple of years, and he had a few months.

When my mother died, and we went through her things, we found a wedding ring set. Cheap, dirt cheap, it was. It wasn’t the set she used to marry Dad, so my sister didn’t want it. So, I got it.

My husband bought his ring, another cheap ring, and we married with that. The one he bought was for him, and the one Mom left was for me. Then things changed.

Over the years, Mom’s ring stopped fitting anything but my pinky, and his knuckles swelled to the point that he couldn’t wear his. So, I gave my daughter Mom’s ring. I wore my husband’s wedding ring. It’s on my hand right now.

I’ve thrown the thing at him a few times. I’ve left it in a drawer a few times (believe me, I didn’t want to lose the thing in a chicken coop) I’ve forgotten it, had it on a key ring… It’s pretty beat up.

2 years ago, this spring, I moved away again. He’d been drinking, and we had to have the police in for a few visits, again. I turned my pew pew over to the cops that day. Because I was afraid that I would use it. I lived in a town about 10 miles away for a few months.

Then, I almost lost him. He died a couple of times that year. Doctors brought him back, and I moved back into the house. It wasn’t easy. Life never is. We had visits from the cops a few times that year again. And an officer actually pulled a gun on him.

Then he sobered up. He did it without meetings. He did it without a Big Book. He got dry. I began to appreciate the ring a bit more. I began to wear it full time. It’s rare that I take it off anymore. I find that I can’t.

For some reason, this cheap ring, bought over the counter at a sprall mart, is the 2nd most important item in my universe. The first is a someone. We got married with this ring. I’m grateful.

Hope you have a lovely day. Take care, huge hugs. -L