Maybe the Universe doesn't hate me, but it's showing a strong dislike
Yesterday I met with Jules to get Ginger's ring repaired and prepare it for hanging on a necklace. I wish I could just continue to wear it on my left pinky where I can feel it, but the ring is much too fragile for that.
Ginger and I had purchased the ring from a coffee shop down in Mankato. It's made of Tibetan silver and was imported to the US as a part of a microbusiness support program.
Ginger loved it because the design consisted of various thicknesses of silver wire braided together into a complicated whole. It's quite symbolic of Ginger herself: bright, complicated and a bit fragile.
The price tag was only $10. I repeatedly offered to get her something pricier, but she told me that she didn't care about what value other people assigned to the ring. She knew it was her wedding ring the second she saw it and that's what made it priceless.
Despite much evidence to the contrary, sometimes I do know when to stop arguing.
I felt a few moments of panic when I handed the ring to Jules. I'd mistakenly assumed that it was going to be a while-you-wait operation.
I knew Jules would take care of Ginger's ring. I'd hung out with her at the consuite at Omegacon enough times to know that she was a caring and trustworthy person.
I knew that the ring would come back to me eventually--I've got too many stories where Ginger's ring has displayed homing pigeon like qualities.
Being apart from Ginger's ring is hard because...
I'll always have the memories that Ginger and I shared together. I'll always have the ways that she taught me to look at the world and the ways she taught me to connect with people. I'll always have the little simulation of Ginger that I run in my head that told me when it was time to surprise her with some chocolate or just walk up behind her when she was busy and kiss her on the back of the neck.
All those things give me a sense of comfort that she'll never totally leave me. But having the ring is like a way to hold her hand again. That's one thing that has been taken away from me.
Trying to put together a life again is a very hard and scary thing. I just wish she were here to hold my hand while I do it.
Ginger and I had purchased the ring from a coffee shop down in Mankato. It's made of Tibetan silver and was imported to the US as a part of a microbusiness support program.
Ginger loved it because the design consisted of various thicknesses of silver wire braided together into a complicated whole. It's quite symbolic of Ginger herself: bright, complicated and a bit fragile.
The price tag was only $10. I repeatedly offered to get her something pricier, but she told me that she didn't care about what value other people assigned to the ring. She knew it was her wedding ring the second she saw it and that's what made it priceless.
Despite much evidence to the contrary, sometimes I do know when to stop arguing.
I felt a few moments of panic when I handed the ring to Jules. I'd mistakenly assumed that it was going to be a while-you-wait operation.
I knew Jules would take care of Ginger's ring. I'd hung out with her at the consuite at Omegacon enough times to know that she was a caring and trustworthy person.
I knew that the ring would come back to me eventually--I've got too many stories where Ginger's ring has displayed homing pigeon like qualities.
Being apart from Ginger's ring is hard because...
I'll always have the memories that Ginger and I shared together. I'll always have the ways that she taught me to look at the world and the ways she taught me to connect with people. I'll always have the little simulation of Ginger that I run in my head that told me when it was time to surprise her with some chocolate or just walk up behind her when she was busy and kiss her on the back of the neck.
All those things give me a sense of comfort that she'll never totally leave me. But having the ring is like a way to hold her hand again. That's one thing that has been taken away from me.
Trying to put together a life again is a very hard and scary thing. I just wish she were here to hold my hand while I do it.