The Ring

The ring came before Christmas, intended for Christmas, but my wife couldn't wait and, seeing her own excited impatience, neither could I.

Enchantment, 16 Oct 2005 – undergrads at Appalachian State, the wind seemed to howl its disapproval as a classmate knocked on the door to my small, student-apartment. I'd just stepped out of a hasty shower, having thought that I would spend the Sunday alone, but at that point scrambling to put clothing on, to look presentable.  The rest was crashing through the assumptions and safety of others - setting a small piece of the world alight.  We decided upon what we wanted and we let nothing stop us from going to it - could we have been less devil-may-care?  Likely.  Would we, being who we are, have done any differently even in a thousand different chances?  Less likely.

Devotion, 16 Feb 2007 – as my wife's endometriosis stabbed inside her abdomen, something that wouldn't be diagnosed until much later, we sped toward downtown Charlotte from her parents' home on Pineville-Matthews Road. We'd been engaged for mere months, a formality, really.  Admonitions of family rang without consequence: warnings of regret for not having a church wedding, too soon, too fast.  My impending father-in-law drove fast and I scrambled to keep pace, nearly rear-ending him in the process.  My wife and her mother had to remove much of their jewelry for the metal detector as it pealed their threatening natures upon their entering the courthouse.  The judge was disheveled, his robe still slightly open from a visit to the restroom just prior to our arrival.  I'd change nothing.

Creativity, 25 Sept 2011 – we wouldn't learn until later how close I came to being a single father, or without any family at all.  The explosions inside the eyes of my wife as she was told not to push, not to allow anymore stress to reach our still unborn son.  Her breath exploding from her mouth in heavy, frustrated exhalations - almost shouts of air.  Our son's gray and wobbly body removed.  My wife's screams of desperate anguish as soft-spoken Doctor W reached in, up to her elbow, digging for the placenta that was torn to pieces.  The post-delivery surgery.  My son in the NICU.  The damned nightmare beauty of it all.

They sleep now next to me - my son's tiny arm curled up onto my wife's chest, his small head resting on the inside of her elbow.

The ring that could easily have been memorial.