"Time heals all wounds." ((SMACK!!!)) "No. No it doesn't"

He needed to get his ring off. He injured his hand and the swelling was just too much. It was the silver ring his bride gave him 15 years prior. His knuckles had grown since then and he never took it off, but now it was a necessity. He did everything he could to get that old silver ring off. But he eventually went in to get it cut off. With his hand on the mend, he and his bride decided they wanted to replace both of their silver rings for gold ones. It was a golden year, after all, because little did they know, that coming year was their last together.

When I saw his ring I couldn't believe the mutilation it had to go through just to get off his finger. Not only did they cut it, but it was stretched and bent crooked. It didn't even look the same. It was put away in a box for safe keeping.

He and Mom both wore their golden rings with pride. They've worked so hard for their meager earnings and to be able to wear something as lovely as those rings, shining bright for the world to see their token of love for each other was a blessing.

Cancer is very unpredictable. It surprised us all and no one knew for sure when he would breathe his last. . But sure enough, six months after being diagnosed, on a foggy night in September, alone with his bride, all five children sleeping just outside the room, he finally found Rest.

Just like that old silver ring, we were all torn apart. Cut off, stretched, and bent. I can still smell the fog of that night. It still visits me occasionally when the weather is just right.

My mother gave me that little box with his old silver mutilated ring. I had it soldered and sized to my finger and have worn it ever since.

That was 14 years ago...

It is one of the most cherished things I carry with me always.

Last year my fingers swelled so bad from my sixth pregnancy that I had to get my rings off. I couldn't get Dad's off. I stood before the jewelers, as brave as I could muster, letting the pain of it's tightness win over my grief that it had to leave my finger this way, and let them cut it off. I bawled my eyes out after that. My heart clenched itself.

It's been a year and I waited for my fingers to calm down from the weight I so thankfully put on. So I gave my ring to the jewelers to have it soldered back together and sized. After all, that ring was made to fit my 16 year old finger! We couldn't afford to pay for both rings (my wedding ring and Dad's ring) so I had to pick one. Ugh! MY WEDDING RING or DAD'S RING?!?! How was I to decide? I missed them both so much, having gone this whole year without either.

 My husband planned to pick it up and asked me, "So... which ring do you want me to pick up?"

My heart clenched again. I held my breath and I felt shame admitting that I wanted Dad's ring. "I want my wedding ring back on my finger so bad but...." I paused..." Dad's ring....it's stressing me that it's away from me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." He said so gracefully. "Yes, it does. I don't take offense. You can wait for your wedding ring because you have me."

(I can't even write this without crying) Hearing him say those words made my heart clench itself once more and this time there was no stopping the tears. That pain! That pain is awful. I hate it. I hate when my heart does that. It makes me want to run, but I'd have no aim. It makes me want to scream, but I'm suffocating. I felt that pain when I sat next to his empty body that night and still feel it when I think about him (and my daughter we lost to SIDS).

When my husband came home from that errand, I couldn't get that ring on my finger fast enough. But as I did that, I took it off again and took a long hard look at it. It was different. A little thinner. Same old silver, but shinier. I looked for the etchings on the inside (engravings from the original jeweler, I assume) that continues to disappear with each sizing/soldering.

It is a little different. But so am I. I put it back on and took another breath.

Wounds do that to us. They change our outlook. They change the way we love. Wounds can make us bitter, or they can soften us. Most times it's a tug of war. And no matter which wins, I always end up getting muddy because life's messy.

Time does not heal all wounds. Time makes it easier to keep going on with life. Time encourages us that things are survivable. But time does not heal. My wounds will remain as long as I remember him. (and her) They remain as long as I remain different. You can't take back the wounds. The only control you have over your wounds is how you choose to love, with all your senses. How you see, hear, feel, taste, and breathe in all the beauty..... and horror.... and what then? You can let your wounds hide you in a corner when you are frightened.... or your wounds can remind you to see and act. Or they can remind you to stop and listen and enjoy.

That's a tug of war at times as well... and you can't win 'em all.