I’m a hopeless romantic. I met a young couple a few years ago when I was serving, that had made their wedding rings out of silver dollars. That’s my idea of a perfect ring. You shouldn’t have to spend a fortune on the ring- it should be an incredible joy to marry the love of your life. The only way I’d do it again was if I felt that strongly.
When I was young and felt insecure about my early entrance into motherhood and lack of a wedding certificate, I thought the ring was very important. I have a lovely 1 carat round solitaire, set into a beautiful vintage filigree gold band that I found in an antique store. I had created the perfect ring and I loved it. He didn’t have much to do with it, and our marriage was equally as imbalanced. It lives in my jewelry box and I wear it on occasion on my right hand… but it will always be my wedding ring… and someday my eldest daughter’s.
I had a bad boyfriend who spoiled me rotten. He broke my heart as often as my trust and his promises. I thought I was going to lose my mind, when he dropped to his knees at the bottom of a waterfall and put a 3 carat teardrop diamond on my finger.
B- I always make you cry, ironic huh?
My eldest daughter has laid her claim to this one as well. Every friend I have that has tried it on has fallen in love. It’s pretty, but holds a million bad feelings for me. I don’t love it.
At the end of my Dirty Boat Stealing Asshole boyfriend, he agreed to the idea of getting married. He wanted to know how soon I wanted to do it, how much I needed another baby and how many hours I expected him to work each week. He wanted to work 12. I hoped for 30. He arrived with a lovely 2 carat princess cut family diamond and the promise to consider a baby. He slid the sparkling diamond on to my finger and just as I thought all my dreams had come true, he said:
S- Since it matters.
and smirked at me.
He stole my boat and I kept the ring. I’m not proud of it, but not very sorry either.
All these diamonds laying around in my jewelry box don’t mean a thing.
This weekend was a walk through grief I haven’t felt in a long time, if ever. A package arrived on Saturday and when I opened it I was hit with the smell of Anthony’s cologne. His mom sent me a box of his favorite stuff and right on the top was the hoodie I gave him for Christmas last year. Zipping myself into it was like a hug from him and I picked up the phone to call her and thank her personally.
She told me to check the pocket and I found a jewelry box with a ring inside.
A silver dollar ring with my birth year. She’d found it packing his things up and on the top of the box was a sticky note with the year I was born, a heart and “wants silver dollars, not diamonds”
I’m freshly devastated at the loss of a friend who heard me so loud and clearly… and loved me in spite of the fact I didn’t really appreciate diamonds as much as I do love.
I’ve been bending over backwards for a year for someone who can hardly acknowledge me, let alone reciprocate. This silver ring is a shiny reminder that I’m giving everything to and accepting nothing from, the wrong people. He knew how visual I am and this a perfect reminder to stay focused and stop losing myself in feeling rejected.
Not a diamond, but a ring with the year I was born etched in the side, from a man who memorized the fine print of me because he was my friend and knew how much the small details hit the hardest with me.
A dollar turned priceless with nothing but love, hard work and good intentions.
Absolutely my favorite inheritance, ever.