I Lost My Wedding Ring and Lived to Tell the Story
I have a wedding ring in the Pacific Ocean somewhere.
No, it wasn’t some dramatic gesture. In fact, the story is not really that interesting. We were in Puerto Vallarta for my brother’s wedding a few years ago, and my wife and I decided to go for an evening swim. I left my wedding ring on because I didn’t think it would fall off. It fell off. I never found it.
When I still had that original wedding ring, I was constantly afraid of losing it or not knowing where it was. Losing the wedding ring was liberating, in a way, because now I place more weight on the meaning of the symbol on my finger than the actual object itself.
The modern practice of men wearing a wedding band only really dates back about a hundred years, and mostly due to increased advertising from the jewelry industry.
All that aside, I wear the band for two main reasons. First, to remind myself that I made a commitment to my wife. It’s heavy, almost 18 grams. I notice it when it’s there, and I notice it when it’s not there. Whether or or off, I’m reminded of my commitment. And second, to proclaim my undying and unconditional love for my wife to the rest of the world.
Divorce has never been an option, in my mind. I can’t imagine doing life without her. I only have one ring that I’ve replaced the wedding band with, but if I had to replace it again, it wouldn’t matter. Because it’s not the ring itself that’s important, but the constant reminder of my commitment to her.