Before our vacation, I made the decision to leave my rings at home.
No, not because I wanted to be seen as single on vacation. But because I was afraid to lose them in the ocean or have them stolen from my room. These aren’t replaceable. If something happens and I lose them, I can never again have either the ring Vance bought me or the one he wore for twenty years.
It felt so weird to not have them on. I kept finding myself reaching to play with them, only to realize they weren’t on. Instead there’s just this weird little indention. This slightly paler than the rest of my hand circle that reminded me that something was missing.
When we got home, I left them off. It had been six months and I thought maybe it was time. That I was ready for this part of moving forward.
For a week I didn’t wear my rings. I thought that maybe I was ready accept widowhood, singleness.
It wasn’t. I’m not.
A week later, I found myself opening the drawer and putting the rings back on. Six months or not, I just am not ready yet.