Next month, Dale and I would have celebrated our 30th anniversary. The 30th anniversary is "Pearl." A couple of months ago, I decided I would buy myself a nice pearl ring to commemorate. First, though, I needed to take off my wedding band, which hasn't left my finger in these 29+ years.
When Dale died, I wouldn't take the ring off because I thought it would be disrespectful to him, and, especially, to the children. Over the years, as I've gained weight, my finger reached the point where the ring wouldn't even move. I couldn't get it off my finger now matter how many ways, or how hard, I tried.
When the pearl ring idea occurred to me, I asked both Briton and Hannah for permission to take off my band. They both said it would be okay, so, the other night, I cut it off. Into two halves, so each of them could have one.
Oddly, I didn't feel anything emotionally. I suppose when you've been a widow longer than you were a wife, those types of things happen.
Physically, though, there is no feeling around the bottom of my ring finger. That's how tight the ring had become. Hopefully, that will change now.
Tomorrow, Hannah and I are supposed to go shopping in Atlanta. I'll be looking for a new ring.