The Ring

 

Last week I saw on a widow’s page I follow on FB (One Happy Widow) that she took her ring off within two weeks of her husband’s death and moved it to her right hand. She saw it as a sign to the world, “Hey, yeah, guess what? “I was a little taken aback, I think, that she could do that so soon. John has been gone almost seven months and I haven’t even thought of taking off my ring, even to move it to another finger.

 So that led me to pose the question to a grief support group on FB about when others have taken off their rings, if ever. The majority of the replies were, Never! Just because s/he died doesn’t mean we’re no longer married! Some said they moved it to their right hand. Some said they bought themselves a black onyx band to wear on their left hand, and put their ring away for safe-keeping. I kind of like that idea actually, and maybe when the time is right, I’ll do that. But for now, it’s on my left ring finger to stay. Last month I had a meltdown in the Fred Meyer jewelry department when I bought jewelry cleaner for my wedding ring. The clerk complimented me on my ring.  I used to say, “Thank you, my husband has great taste.” Instead, I muttered, “Thanks, I’m widowed and can’t take it off.” Then stifled the tears until I could get to my car and sob.

 But one reply on my post got my dander up and I had to remember my pledge not to argue with random strangers on FB. She said, “But don’t you want to date again?” My reply was curt, “I have absolutely no interest in dating again.” To which she replied, “But don’t you want someone to hold your hand? I can’t even imagine what I’d do if my husband died. I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone the rest of my life.” Obviously, she was in the group grieving the loss of someone other than her husband. I don’t compare traumas as each person’s grief is their own, but right there she lost the right to comment about someone losing their spouse or taking off their ring.

 I didn’t respond, because if I had, I’d have written a book-length post. Why would I settle for Walmart ground beef when I’ve had USDA Prime Rib? Why would I want to put energy I no longer have into a relationship that would never measure up to what I had with my husband? Just because I’m no longer married doesn’t mean I’m alone. I have girlfriends I’m now freer to spend time with on my schedule not his. I can travel to visit my sister without guilt of leaving him home alone. There are literally dozens of things I’d rather do than date at this stage in my life. Write. Tend my garden. Walk my dog.  Cook myself an amazing dinner. Watch true crime documentaries on Netflix. Watch my toenails grow. Anything but date. Have you seen most 60-something men? No, thank you.

 John and I talked about the possibility of me dating after he was gone and I told him that after him I was D-O-N-E. We joked about it, but when we got serious, I told him I finally understood why his mother never dated after she lost John’s dad when she was only 50. No man would measure up. That’s how I feel about John. Did he have his faults? Of course! Was our marriage perfect? Of course not. But he was a person who knew how to man up, who did the right thing even when it was the hard thing. He fought for me, for us, when it counted. He chose me and our marriage over his alcohol addiction, got sober and stayed sober until the day he died. He helped me grow up and realize what we had was worth fighting for. He taught me the meaning of true love and commitment. There’s literally nobody else I would have spent 19 years with. There were times he made me so mad I wanted to leave, storm away, strangle him, stab him in the throat, or all four.  And I’m sure he felt the same. But we always came back for the good times, of which there were many.

John made sure I’d have a good life after he was gone. I’m not rich, far from it, but if I’m careful, I’ll be OK living my life without uttering “Do you want fries with that? or “Do you need a cart today? Thank you for shopping at Walmart.”

 There’s not a day goes by that I don’t thank John, out loud, for taking care of me. I’m convinced he had a hand in finding my house for me. It’s not completely everything I wanted, but it’s what I can handle. Did I want acreage where I could have a couple of goats, chickens, and maybe a cow? Yes. But after working around my little half acre, it’s just enough work for me. I don’t need to add more. Fall leaves and spring weeds and grass will be as much as I can handle. When I started my riding mower today and hooked up its little trailer to haul some tools to the back of my little spot of land, I thought, “John knew this is exactly what I needed.”  It came with painting projects, outdoor projects, has a secluded feel but is close to town. It’s 30 minutes from Dad when he needs me. It’s ideal for DD the Dope Dog and a roaming cat. John was a great dog and cat dad and he’d be happy they have room to run here.  And there’s the added benefit of seeing deer wander through almost daily.

I’ve thrown myself into projects to keep myself busy, but on the quiet days, I miss him so much I can’t breathe. The sadness covers me like a weighted blanket. Thankfully those times are coming less frequently. Mostly I try to be happy because I know he wanted that for me. John was happiest when he was making me happy. For now, what makes me happy is looking at the ring on my left hand, remembering the day in the jewelry store when he spotted it and said, “That’s the one”, the day we showed it to my parents and the sight of it took my breath away, the day he put it on my finger and we vowed until death do us part.