Old Gold

When Jeremy first proposed, I don't think my feet touched ground for days. It wasn't a surprise, but, boy was it the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I loved the ring he selected without reservation. Especially when he described his agony in picking out a diamond, a setting, wondering if it was all correct. That was 13 years ago, and I love that ring still, I think even more.

The day our first child was born, I was a total and typical new mom, worried about everything. I wondered if I would scratch our precious child, and Jeremy agreed, so I took the ring off, handed it to my husband and did not put it back on until this week.

As I was packing, I came across it, and I did not like the idea of my engagement ring residing in a storage locker, and my kids are old enough, well, I am over scratching them. So my ring went back on, causing me to contemplate on my old gold rings.

Back when we married, it was all the rage to get platinum rings. One excited bride explained to me that the ring would last forever, like her love. That's nice. I think it is a lovely symbol of eternal love, but it isn't for us. Jeremy and I are, well we are more "gritty."

We have gold bands. Old fashioned yellow gold bands. Gold is hard by human standards, but soft by metal standards. Like our marriage, it changes, but slowly. I am not sure what year the brushed gold finish became more scratched gold finish, but it happened. Probably the year I stopped seeing the moon in Jeremy's eyes, but appreciated more his steady hand in mine. There are dings on my wedding band that I have named for each of our moves. Our rings are decidedly unique after a dozen years.

Which is why I sat in tears yesterday when I got home from a shopping trip with Elspeth and discovered my engagement ring had fallen off. I knew I had it at the check-out counter, it fell off there, and stooped to pick up thinking I must be more careful. I wasn't.

While Jeremy bathed our daughter, I collected a flashlight and headed back to Target in search of my ring. The sweet girl at customer service said she wished I had put it in my pocket when it fell off. "Not as much as I do," I thought.

I retraced my steps, slowly. I got on my knees in the parking lot and looked under the car now parked in my previous spot. That is when I attracted attention from other shoppers. People stopped to help look. One guy positioned his car so the headlights would help in the increasing darkness.

No luck.

Finally, we called it quits and I headed home in a fresh round of tears. Now I was sad that I lost my ring, AND that I was leaving a community where everyone will stop to help a complete stranger look for something lost.

Jeremy called to check on me, neither of spoke about the ring, knowing that each of us was telling the other by silence alone that it hadn't been located.

Tired, and upset, I backed the car out of the driveway to park it on the road.

That's when it happened.

My brain saw something flash.

I backed up.

It flashed again.

Leaving the car straddled across the entire road, I slowly got out. And found it. My ring.

Now it has been run over at least twice (pulling forward, and backing up). And it probably has a few more scratches, but who could notice. I figure it is still a good representation of our marriage. As we prepare to sell the home we had babies in. As we prepare for the unknown future in Arizona. As we prepare for all kinds of unknowns together. We have picked up a few more scratches, but we are still here. Shining like old gold.