I used to joke
that I was a single, married mom. He hated that. Because his job kept him away
and working weird hours so much, I felt like I was the only parent around a lot
of the time. It was normal to attend church with the kids and not him, or
outings, or even family events. I often felt so alone. My own parents helped a
ton, and I am sure it gave my sons much more than I could have, but it never
filled the void of loneliness for me.
Want to know
something weird? Whenever I was alone at these public places, I would play with
my wedding ring. It was gorgeous, decently sized, and it was a symbol to me
that I was loved and part of a union. It’s probably silly how often I looked at
that ring, thinking that even though he wasn’t there, at least we had each
other. When my wedding ring came off, my hand felt naked without it. I wear
nail polish all the time, and whenever I remove it I hurry to put another
polish back on because I hate the way my nails feel without it, naked, weak.
That’s exactly how my finger felt without that ring. And though it was probably
purely psychological, I needed something there. My mom knew this, and gave me a
ring of hers that had a sapphire and tiny diamonds. Those are my sons’ two
birthstones, and I slipped the ring on my left wedding ring finger, a symbol to
myself of what I was still a part of. I still had a family. Though divorce
would take away my marriage, I would always be a mom. Eventually the ring moved
to my right hand, but even then I would look down and know that something was
missing, the skin from years of being under a ring, pale and solitary, a stripe
of what once was.
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