the ring
to infinity and beyond
I have a wedding ring. It’s no longer a symbol of love and devotion; it has become now a symbol of failure, of broken promises and lies. It holds within it various emotions. I can look at it and think of all the lovely times we had, all the romance and mutual adoration that led to a wedding date in Reno in 2013. I sometimes turn it over in my hand, look at the intricate inlay, remember the day we picked our rings out. This little object held such power and it still does in so many ways.
I keep it inside a candle I never use. It’s just sitting there on the wax, leaving a small imprint the way it once did on my ring finger. I see it every time I dust the shelves and I always pause and catch my breath and get stuck in a reminiscing loop.
So why don’t I throw it out? Why not toss it into the Atlantic Ocean or throw it out of my car window as I drive on the Long Island Expressway so it can get crushed under the wheels of semi?
The short answer is, I want to hold on to those memories. I don’t want them to fade, no matter how much they upset me. I want to hold that ring when I’m feeling particularly melancholy and remember the vacations, the adventures, the love. Oh yes, I was once loved. I was loved so much that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. It’s good to be reminded of that even if in the end, I’m just reminding myself that I am loved no longer. It’s a weird power this ring has over me, the way all the artifacts of our marriage do. There’s so much left around this house and yard that are intrinsically his; things I can’t throw out, things I won’t throw out, things that make this house run, that make my heart feel a certain darkness, but things that also bring light in the remembering of pleasant times.
There’s a necklace with the infinity symbol he gave to me on Christmas several years ago. It has both our birthstones on it. It meant so much to me. It mean forever. That necklace made me feel secure in the knowledge that he intended to spend forever with me. Alas, it was not to be and that piece of jewelry was probably less symbolic to him than it was to me. I keep it on my dresser, along with the other pieces of jewelry he gave me. I can’t bring myself to discard it or even hide it. But I keep thinking about the concept of infinity and how that can bend and break.
There are songs that belonged to us together, not “our” song per se, but tunes that somehow reminded us of each other, of good times, of that heady feeling of falling in love with the same person over and over again, every day. There’s “Steal My Sunshine,” a favorite of his that became a favorite of mine by default. I’ll always remember that sun drenched day we were driving down a mountain in South Lake Tahoe and it came on the rental car radio. We both sang, we both smiled as the scenery of Tahoe played out before us. We were free of our daily obligations, there was just vacation mode and free living. Life was perfect within that moment and I knew right then I’d probably reached peak happiness. “Steal My Sunshine” will always be a touchstone for me, an artifact from our relationship that is not tangible, yet still can make me feel like I’m holding on to something.
There’s so much of him here. The living room set he picked out, the security system he installed that I have no idea how to work, the movie posters on the wall, the indent on the right side of my seems-too-big bed, the pictures of our trips to Barcelona that sit on the shelves. I supposed I could take the movie posters down, sell the framed pieces to someone who will appreciate them. But I know I will leave the walls bare for too long, a testament to the fact that it was always him who filled the spaces in our house; his handprints are virtually everywhere.
It’s the ring I come back to again and again, the possession I have that most speaks to my sadness and my anger. When I turn it over and over in my hand, I realize I miss the weight of it on my finger. I never put it back on, that would be a powerfully stupid thing to do. But I do think about the years I wore it proudly, how I was always fidgeting with it when I was nervous, spinning it around on my finger. It gave me comfort, it let me know someone was there for me, that I had backup, I had help. I had love.
I want very much to get rid of the ephemera of our relationship; I want to discard the detritus that we managed to collect in our fourteen years together. I am knee deep in it, wading in souvenirs and prizes. It seems senseless to have things around that keep reminding of what I lost. I gained nothing by the breakup and divorce; I did not grow and learn and use my heartbreak to gain some kind of experience. I did not get stronger from this. In some respects I grew weaker, and my insistence on keeping the ring is part of that.
It’s been almost two years. It’s time to take these artifacts and bury them or burn them or just dump them in the trash. It’s time to take that beautiful ring and all it meant and come to the realization that it doesn’t mean anything anymore and keeping it around, keeping the necklace and posters and songs, is only keeping me from moving on.
I’m not going to be ceremonial about it. There will be no grand gesture by the shore of Jones Beach. I’m just going to gather up the smaller things- the ring and the infinity necklace - and put them in a box and put them out with the trash. That doesn’t mean the memories have to go with it, it just means I won’t be torturing myself with physical reminders anymore. Maybe I am growing.