Sunday, September 9, 2012

The Search Continues

It has been a week since I lost my wedding rings. I have shed many tears,  gotten very little sleep and been able to think of little else. Kris has been through the dumpsters in our alley . . . . twice. We have moved furniture and searched the house over.

My rings mean so much to me. Of course they remind me of my promise to Kris, but they also hold some precious memories.

The engagement ring rode around in Kris's truck for over a week until he finally mustered up enough nerve to pop the question. When he did, I screamed and he asked "Is that a yes?'

Two days before the wedding, Kris stopped by the church where my sister and I were decorating. He took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen beside the fellowship hall. He looked into my eyes and asked me if I would run away with him that afternoon and elope. "I would marry you today if you would let me," he said and I believed him. He had the wedding band in his pocket, just in case I said "yes".  But I had a fluffy white dress and bridesmaids and hundreds of roses and a five-tiered cake and a violinist . . . . I made him wait two more days.

I don't have a picture of my ring. At the wedding reception, my blood sugar plummeted and I started to feel faint. I have to eat 9 small meals a day to keep everything balanced and I had only eaten twice on my wedding day. The photographer was about to take a photo of our rings and noticed my hands trembling. She asked if I was OK and I said "no". Kris grabbed a piece of cake and I gobbled it down. By the time I was finished eating, I was feeling better, the band was rocking, and we had all forgotten about the ring picture.

When I was expecting Zack, I was prepared to wear my rings on a chain when my hands started to swell. But, my hands didn't swell. I lost 14 pounds while pregnant. My rings were too big.

I lost my rings once before, when Bailey was 2 years old. She liked to wear them and would put them on whenever she found them in my little glass ring cup on the dresser. I found them a few days later in my purse. I have no proof, but I am certain the culprit was a little black-haired toddler. (She is 9 years old now and still likes to try them on.)

I was upset when 3 years ago, the nurse made me take my rings off before I had gallbladder surgery. They have been such a source of comfort to me and I didn't want to be without them during surgery. She let me keep my rainbow-striped, good luck socks, but made me take off my rings. It just didn't seem right. I would have much rather taken off my socks.

Kris holds my hand and kisses my ring. It's just a silly little ritual, but it hurts that it has been an entire week since he has kissed my ring. My hand feels lighter and I hate to say that I am starting to get used to the way it feels without my ring. Today, I slipped on my grandmother's ring, just to have something to wear on my left ring finger. I don't want to get used to my rings being gone. I keep telling myself I am only wearing my grandmother's ring until I find my own.

I am determined to find them, so fighting back tears, the search continues.