The Weight of Diamonds

Hearts Don't Break // aboyagirlandthemarinecorps.com

I have skin sensitivities.  This means that I am often allergic to things I never had any reason to know in advance.  At my work I’m allergic to everything.  From the latex gloves to the cleaning supplies.  EVERYTHING.  For the short time I wore my ring to work, I got a rash.  Chemicals got caught under it and my skin would begin to peel off.  Eventually I gave up on wearing it work, which lead to being out of the habit of wearing it at all.

I haven’t worn my ring on a regular basis in years.

I haven’t bothered to get back into the habit.

Sometimes, I pull my wedding rings out of the red velvet pouch they came in and hold them in my hand, feeling their weight.  They feel heavy and foreign.  I can’t imagine putting them back on.

I suppose, if I want to be deep and slightly pretentious, I can correlate this to my marriage and relate the emotions of both.  My marriage, struggling to survive, feels foreign and strange.  We don’t hold hands anymore, even a simple act such as that is something that feels strange and awkward to do with a man I have spent most of my adult life with.

As we struggle to reconnect, those rings sit in a bowl on my bathroom counter.  They sit right on top, in their red velvet pouch.  They are too small for my arthritic and swollen fingers.  I haven’t bothered to get them resized.  I tell myself it’s because I will lose the weight and the swelling will go down and they will just have to be resized again.  The truth is so much simpler.  They are beautiful reminders of something I don’t really understand.  How can something I cherish so much feel so out of place in my life?  How can I look at the diamond in my engagement ring and smile as I remember the shock on the face of the jewelry sales girl when I insisted on a SMALLER diamond.  A full carat? ! No, that would be too large, too awkward for me. Love never dies a natural death // aboyagirlandthemarinecorps.com

And yet, even the smaller diamond, the pave stones, running the length of the white gold hoop that is meant to sit neatly on my hand, never to be taken off, are just that: pave stones on a gold hoop.  They feel weightless in spite of the rings feeling heavily downtrodden with my own heartache.