Came in last night to rehearsal, sporting an extra box of Kleenex and an eight-pack of Gatorade…knowing the kind of workout our sinuses and bodies would be going through, ahead of time. Was greeted, mid-conversation, by our SM, who took one look a the Kleenex box and started to well up. Apparently, “again”…as her eyes had that puffy-red, tell-sign of a hard day’s work already behind them.
“What’s wrong!” I naturally asked, moving forward.
“No!,” she knee-jerked back, not unkindly. “It just gets worse when people hug me.”
…Then, after a moment of containing herself…
“I lost my wedding ring at the gym today.”
…And that is really all that needs to be said, isn’t it?
Her wedding ring.
…Now I have known several women who have found themselves in this place before, and even as jaded a human being as I admittingly am, I have to confess that the first thing that comes to mind is not, “well, fuck…I hope it was insured.”
I am a GIGANTIC sentimentalist. I could put almost anyone to shame (mostly myself) with the things that I hold onto…little, tiny, useless things…simply because of the meanings they hold for me.
“Memories” are a really big deal to me.
…So when someone says, “I lost my wedding ring,” it isn’t ever the dollar sign of the diamond that I think of. It’s the day he finally proposed…and the awesome story that goes along with it. It’s the memory of you both picking out the matching wedding bands. It’s those months, or weeks or days…spent preparing for that one single moment, where all your friends and families (or the very small collection of a few representatives), gathered together to celebrate the two of you, being “You.” And its all the days that lead up to it, and follow afterward.
…Because though I don’t believe in “marriage” personally for ME…I DO believe in the institution and the importance of a promise made to another person, that is intended to last the rest of your life.
It’s kind of a big deal.
…So as I watched her be upset and tell the story of the ring’s loss, and try to tame her sentimentality…I also watched her stand up for her right to own this sadness, despite if it made other people feel uncomfortable. As she reflected over the small army of fellow gym members, willingly giving of their time to help her look for it, she also noted a particular woman on the gym’s staff who seemed less than whelmed over the entire episode…over the loss of “just a thing which shouldn’t matter this much, as it is only a ring, and can be replaced…it’s not like a death or something.”
Pardon me?!
When Ma’s house was broken into last year, and the laundry list of items missing, first came to light…ask me how much energy was spent on the 42 inch TV and Bluray and Sterios and prescription pills?
None.
…Who even gives a flying shit?
Our family home was invaded…so THAT freaks you out and pisses you off, of course…but what actually physically HURT…like the very insides of us, were the family heirlooms…totally and completely meaningless to these sorry excuses for human beings…that we will never get to see or touch again.
…Standing over a Police report of “stolen goods,” how the flying fuck do you put a price to those things, which are (to a Police report), just that: tangible goods, that may or may not have a legit street-worth, which may or may not end up in a local pawn shop, or on the girlfriend’s finger of the ass-hat who stole it. Sure, sometimes you do have to think practical about it, but that doesn’t mean the loss to you is any less than a total travesty.
“Things” have meanings.
…And somewhere, someone might be sporting a tiny treasure recently “found” in a gym shower or reception desk, or even the “lost and found” drawer…and to them, it’s “neat.”
That is all.
…This ring, (so we are told), doesn’t look like the stereotypical “Wedding” variety one usually sees. It doesn’t dazzle with mega-rock diamonds. It is small, and silver, and infinity-knotted. It is something a certain fella picked out and had imported from Ireland, for a certain somebody else. It was given with promises, and has been worn ever since, as a constant reminder of them…which is the entire point of a Wedding ring’s intent.
It is a devastating loss, for reasons you cannot put a price tag on, for reasons that you cannot just throw money at to replace.
…And I really hope, wherever it is right now, however it came to be “missing,” that it somehow finds it’s way back home again.
…And, (fierce supporter of my people and the things that matter most to them, that I am), I wish I could slap that one woman ‘cross the face with something…anything…that could make her see the totally asinine inappropriateness of her dismissive reaction.
(Hugs, “H”)
~D
