Weddingbee Blog

Why is there a part 3, you ask? Didn’t part 2 end with a ring on my finger and happiness (and relief) all around?? Sometimes, life throws a few curve balls…

THE BAD PART:

Mr. Thimble likes to tell people how nice I am, but I think he really means naive. Sure, I mean no harm, but I am an irresponsible, messy, been-told-my-whole-life-to-get-organized person. Family and friends, are you ready to scream, “I told you so!!”??? Well, here’s your chance, I’m coming clean:

I lost it.

The ring.

But wait. Didn’t you mention that the diamond was your grandmom’s?

Yes.

God, yes.

Is there any kind of happiness to his ending? And I mean, you MUST have an explanation!!?!

I SUUUUURE do! Remember my mention of hives developing from my promise ring in part 1? They came back. I thought it was from a combo of weight gain and over zealous hand washing from my food service jobs. It wasn’t. It was the mix-ins in the gold. We didn’t spring for platinum when we got my Grandmother’s diamond re-set because we didn’t fully suspect in was an allergy as it had come out of nowhere. The setting we chose also didn’t actually come in platinum. The jeweler would have to plate it in platinum and it would be costly and not permanent. It was also too big, because per my suspicions that the other ring was too tight and thusly itchy, so I ignored advice to quarter-size it down to prevent ring-swing action from the weighty diamond on top.

Given all the resulting annoyances, I took the little two-toned, filigree, pave, grandmom’s 1-carat beauty OFF a lot. Big fail. And no, I never took any pretty pictures of it because I thought I had all the time in the world.

Where is it? I dunno. Down the drain at the Laundromat? (They took things apart to look for us for a couple weeks to no avail), stolen? ::gasp!:: at work? (I like to doubt this one very much, my mother prefers this explanation because it makes me a victim.)

But, despite the fact that I never took pretty pictures of it. Despite the fact that it lives only in our memories. Despite the fact that it was a family heirloom, it’s okay. It was insured. It’s “JUST A THING” as saintly people in my life who have been through this like to tell me.

THE GOOD PART(s):

First: I searched EVERYWHERE all over my apartment, in ridiculous places that could not possibly hold my lost engagement ring for MONTHS. Seat cushions, drawers, pockets, jewelry box (like I said, unlikely places to find my ring).

In pulling apart my nightstand, I opened every old purse and makeup bag (bottom drawer) that I found. Even if I hadn’t regularly used them in years, like a little makeup bag pouch where I store nail polish. In my desperation, I dug in there with my greedy, hopeful little fingers, felt something small round and ring-like, and revealed….

My promise ring!! [Ring(+)3]

My lost little baby promise ring that had gone missing, down a gutter somewhere in Los Angeles two years prior, was dangling off the tip of my index finger.

And it came back to me in a quick, reassuring rush. I {stupid} put the little guy in this bag {idiot} in the midst of my packing disaster mess in LA {disorganized} so I wouldn’t lose it!! And I forgot about it just one day later by the time my dad arrived to help pack the car. Story of my stupid idiot disorganized life.

While this revelation did not help me find my engagement ring, I had one condolence that really helps- besides State Farm—which brings me to…

Second: The ring I lost? My Grandmom’s ring? That I should tell you I felt bad about having, and the “nice” person that Mr. Thimble brags I am made CERTAIN that it was okay with my paternal cousins, uncle and aunt that I had it.

This ring? Was not Grandmom K’s first engagement ring. No, no… she was not remarried. She LOST her first ring. She claimed it was stolen off the windowsill when she was washing dishes. I like to think of it as one of her delicious steaming pies quietly snatched off the windowsill by Yogi Bear. In Northeast Philly.

I feared that every time I looked at my new ring {yes! Replacement ring! [Ring 5!]}, I’d feel a pang of guilt. Instead, the sparkliness of the gorgeous replacement that T and I chose together makes me smile, and makes me think of my Grandmom and her own lost ring. I like to think that she looks down on me from heaven with a little bit of disappointment, sure, but with understanding and pride that I replaced her precious replacement with this:

New E-ring and Promise Ring, brought to you by the letter F, and Mr. T’s fancy complicated camera.

I like to think this lost ring story has just enough quirkiness to give it a happy ending. And really, in the end, it’s not about the ring—even if the ring wasn’t really mine to lose. It’s about the journey together and the upcoming wedding, and committing to cherish each other for the rest of our lives… even if the symbolism of several lost and found rings foreshadows a rocky road ahead.

And soon, we get to pick our wedding rings and who knows what will happen!! (We’ll get them both insured right away—that’s what.)

Has anyone else lost their ring (I hope not, of course!) and then found their ring in an unexpected place?