My Lost Wedding Ring

About four years ago. I lost my wedding ring. My ring finger had grown wider and wider over the 32 or so years I had worn it and one day I took it off. Where I put it is a complete mystery. It could have been in our TV room by our daybed where I may have idly removed it for a finger breather, but turning that room upside down revealed nothing. It could have also gone missing in my "man cave" off the kitchen. I often sleep in that room and may have removed it there. The decrepit wooden floors there could have either swallowed it up or sent the rolling band in innumerable directions, but again, it did not turn up there. Finally, I could have lost it while putting up tarps on our outdoor shed. The precise reason for this I cannot recall, but it caused me to get down on my hands and knees to comb through the grass and leaves searching in vain for it.

Since then, I have come to believe that this white gold antique band inscribed with "G, love without mediocrity, pp" has been a reason for our troubles. That by losing this band, I have somehow released the demons that cause marriages to fail. The prevalent one is infidelity. By infidelity, I don't mean an affair or some such thing, but the infidelity of losing a symbol that was/is a touchstone of our relationship. I, of course, have kicked myself innumerable times for misplacing the ring, and yet there is the voice that says to me, "well, maybe it was a subconscious thing--you know that things have been pretty up and down for you two." 

And that is the quandary. Is losing the ring a symptom of a larger issue or did I just stupidly lose that ring? Confessionally, marriage is tough to maintain as a couple changes. Betsy and I are genuinely loving to each other, but we simultaneously go down destructive rabbit holes that are predictable and, at times, laughable. We struggle from time to time, but we also still find a lot to love in each other, even if some of that could well be the sentimentality that comes from a lengthy history and all that comes with it. Still, with losses on both sides of parents and pets and illnesses of close friends, there is also the fear of aging and what will become of us in our waning years. There are also the natural jealousies that come from disparities in finances, the tug-of-war of can I trust you to be here when I need you most, and the last gasp of is this the way the rest of my life should play out?

I never really understood the power of the ring. My mother gave us her wedding ring from my dad and her's marriage. I replaced a missing diamond at some point which made it feel more like Betsy's ring. But even that gesture was ill-conceived. We were in serious debt when we bought the "bloodless" diamond. Ironically, there was some bad blood for a while over it. Since I lost my ring, Betsy has offered to replace it several times, but no real action has transpired on it. Whether it is the usual hemming and hawing or perhaps an underlying current of mistrust or something else, I don't know. But with every day the imprint of the ring continues its slow fade, the more I wonder if it is a harbinger of things to come.

Just today we spoke to the guy replacing our upstairs window and said that the secret to a long relationship is to be stubborn, but not too stubborn. As I begin the "retired" phase of my life with her, I hope that I don't become as rigid as she seems to be about how and with whom she spends her days. But, I also know we are two people with two different ways of navigating our needs. While I tend to be the more self-contained, Betsy does need her friendships and traditions. I am hopeful, ring or no ring, we will be able to find our sweet spot together without also becoming the bane of each other's existence. Future me understands that one of us will be left behind. I leave these thoughts behind for her as much as for me. I want to remember how things are in all their imperfection because the soft glow of time tends to make the bitter sweeter than it should be and the sweet, a bit sourer for the wear and tear of living it.

Somewhere in this universe, my ring lies or has been found. Secretly, I want it to find the right finger to live that life without mediocrity. I have done my best to uphold our optimistic exuberance and yet, I know I've failed at some points and with age probably will be happy with that. If I am with Betsy until the end, as I plan, it may not be entirely for the pleasure of her company, but because learned that real, down-to-the-bone love is as imperfect, forgetful, and clumsy as I have turned out to be.