I took off my engagement ring and wedding band after about a week, when the initial fog started to wear off. I COULDN’T look at them on my left hand; every time I felt them or saw them, I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. It felt like I was being stabbed in the heart. It felt like a lie; because in my mind, those rings signified that there is someone waiting at home for me, my best friend, my husband. The rings signified happiness and being content. At least, that is what I always thought when looking at them before. I remember during the day at work, if it was stressful, I’d just glance down at my hand, and I would immediately feel better, because I knew that in a few hours I can go home to happy and everything would be okay. That was gone now. I literally could not continue to wear the rings on my left hand and stay sane. I couldn’t. I remember thinking, if someone sees me at a grocery store now with these rings, they’ll think, “Oh how sweet, that girl is married and happy.” No. That is not what my new life is. I don’t want people to think that because it is so not true; it’s sooo far from the truth. I was also terrified of strangers asking me things like, “Oh, how long have you been married?” or other routine stuff like that.
So after about a week, I took off my engagement ring. I really love that ring; it was perfect…he got me exactly what my “dream” ring was. Now I felt like I was looking at my future that had just burnt to the ground, and I just couldn’t keep the ring there. It’s now in my jewelry box. I moved the wedding band to my right hand. I have no idea why, I know it doesn’t make sense to just move the band to the right hand. I don’t know why I did it; it seemed right. And I can’t take it off. I tried. I can’t.
A few days before “that” night, Brandon was fixing something around the house and scraped his ring finger. So he took off his ring because the finger was swollen and the ring irritated it. I remember he didn’t want to, but I told him to take it off and let his finger heal. So he kept the ring in the front pocket of his lunch box that he took with him to work every day. On the third day after his death, I had a sudden urge to hold his ring; I can’t explain it. I remember I was so sad because I didn’t have it. But then my stupid brain remembered that he wasn’t wearing his ring, that his ring wasn’t on his dead body in the morgue. It was in the trunk of his car, in the front pocket of his lunch box. I ran down there, and got his ring. I had such a break down right there in the garage. I just sat in his car, smelled his smell, and wailed. I remember I started saying, “Oh God, you’re really gone.”
I don’t even know for how long I sat there, feeling sorry for myself, missing him, wishing there was something I could do to end this nightmare and bring him back. At the end of that, I went back into the house, went to my jewelry box, found a chain, put his ring on it, and put it around my neck. I haven’t been able to take off his ring since. In some odd way, that first night I sat on the couch and I put on his ring (it’s WAY too big for me, we always joked about his short ‘sausage’ fingers) but I put in on my thumb, and I felt peace. Just moments of peace and comfort. So that’s what I’ve done; I wear my wedding band on my right hand and his ring on a chain around my neck. I went to a store yesterday and got a really nice silver chain for it; the other one was short and I got tired of getting weird looks when people would see it. Now it sits right under my heart when I wear it and as far as the world is concerned, this girl is just wearing a long chain.