The Ring's The Thing

It's been, as of today, 15 years since I married my first husband. So we're celebrating big tonight, with him leading our oldest son's baseball practice and me cooking up some spaghetti. Perhaps I'll change out of my yoga clothes and not put on my sleep pants before 7 p.m. 

Such is life after 15 years of wedded bliss and three young sons.

But there have been some gestures.

The man I married 15 years ago sent me a dozen beautiful roses. Romantic, classic.

My lead-by-example inlaws (married 49 years, and counting!) sent a card and called early in the morning.

My 'best woman' (I hated the term 'maid of honor'...how is it an honor being any one's maid?) sent me a congratulatory text message. Thoughtful, modern.

And I visited John, my local jeweler to investigate repairing my wedding ring. Yep, I broke it a couple of weeks ago. Caught my finger in a folding chair that I happened to be folding at the time. It's now oval shaped, although my finger remains round, and the solitaire diamond, although in tact, is bent backwards.

Turns out repairing a 15+-year-old ring that's been smashed is not as simple as you might think. Turns out that a decade and a half of cleaning as well as swimming in chlorinated pools with the ring on has made the gold band very fragile.

At least the marriage is stronger than the ring, which is really the point of this 'happy anniversary' blog. (Romantic, modern, right?)

But I can't wrap this up without my favorite wedding ring story from the past 15 years.  Only a year into our marriage, Kevin had a work trip to Las Vegas. I knew he'd spend a fair amount of time out in the sun, as he was training for one of his many marathons, so I had nagged -- I mean, reminded -- him to pack sunscreen and to use it.

When I got home from work, I noticed his sun screen still on the bathroom sink. So later that evening when he called, I believe I said, "I have a bone to pick with you," or, "I'm some kinda mad." Anyway, the rookie says, "Oh, yeah, I know, I left my wedding ring on the dresser."

What? You went to Las Vegas without your wife or your wedding ring? Forget about the sun screen.

Happy anniversary, Kevin!

Good Grief!

Good. Grief. Good, grief. Good grief!

As they say, punctuation matters.

I was brought up in a world, or at least in a culture, in which grief is not a shared emotion. I came to believe that was a good thing.

Be strong.

Have faith, or Faith, if you prefer.

Remember it it not your will but God's will.

I heard those phrases during many a crisis ... parents' deaths, fertility challenges, fleeing Manhattan after 9/11. And I believed them.

I live in that same world now as an adult, a world in which we give very little credence to grief, in which there's all but a note in our i-calendars that says, "OK, time to move on."

Grief has been on my mind for a week now, since the unexpected death of a neighbor and friend, the dad to two of my boys' friends. Of course, I've been very sensitive to what my boys are feeling and thinking. So I keep asking them about what they are feeling and thinking. Then my oldest snapped at me, "Why do you keep asking me about this? Leave it alone."

That's when I realized it was my grief I was trying to get my son to feel, to express. He may or may not grieve. As long as he supports his friend, he doesn't need to, I suppose. But I need to, and I've sensed that many in our community need to as well.

I need to grieve a little more publicly than usual. Hence, this blog entry.

But as usual, my sons bring a much-needed lightness to me when dealing with dark issues. Last night at dinner, after Kevin, Luke and I returned from the memorial reception for our friend, the youngest grilled his Dad on death. "How many sleeps until you die? Until mom dies? Until I die?" And it kept coming back to the simplest thing for the little guy. "But who would fix me breakfast?"

While their self-centeredness drives me crazy at times, it saved us on this tough subject. Because I feel safe in assuring the boys that there will always be someone to take care of them. When they are as old as we are, they will have friends and perhaps their own children to do it, just like my boys take care of me and shine their light all around on those dark days.

Cheers! La Chaim!