Ash and I got married on a very hot August day in downtown Manteo, NC in 2009. I can never remember whether we got married on the 8th or the 9th but I know it was one of those dates, almost certain it was the 9th, but I’m not sure it really matters anyway. I was 4 months pregnant, the temperature was approximately 109 degrees and we got married outside. We didn’t have a rehearsal because I didn’t find it necessary to practice walking. I figured I’d been doing it well enough for 26+ years so I could probably figure it out. Turns out I was wrong. I couldn’t figure out which way the aisle went so just cut through the guests to get to my groom.

We said our vows in front of very few people (as shotguns weddings tend to be short on guests) and a rent-a-minister who’s name I can’t recall. I do remember that every other word out of his mouth was “awesome” so that was awesome. The air conditioning went out at our reception site so that, too, was awesome. Our first dance was pretty awkward, not being one to enjoy people just staring at me while I pretend I know how to dance. I can’t even remember what song played while we danced. I think it was a country song and I think it mentioned Texas. I remember the food being tasty, the cake even more so and I remember dancing my ass off, even though I couldn’t drink (and generally my best dancing happens when I’m drinking, in my mind anyway.) I also recall asking Ash to not get drunk on our wedding night. He did. And proceeded to vomit all over the men’s room. Sexy.

We had our honeymoon in downtown Manteo as well. I got ready for the wedding in our hotel room and had bumped the air conditioning down to 65 degrees before I had left the room. Best. Choice. Ever. Nothing felt better than going into that room after sweating my pregnant arse off for the past 6 hours. It was not a magical wedding night, as my groom was drunk, then sick, then sleepy. But we had gotten married. Husband and wife. Until death do we part.

Little did we know that death would part us so quickly. 10 years is not a lot of time. 10 years is not enough time. We had so much left to do, so many unaccomplished goals, so much more love to give and probably so many more hard times (insert current quarantine here) to overcome. But God had other plans.

I was out the other night and someone asked me why I stopped wearing my wedding rings. The short answer was because it makes me sad. But that’s not the complete answer. I’m not even sure I know the complete answer but here is what I do know. I stopped wearing my wedding rings in January when we went to Florida. I didn’t want to wear them to Florida because our trip was mostly recreational and I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I was never one that constantly wore her rings anyway. If my hair was done (ie washed, blow dried, straightened and/or curled), I would wear my rings. If I was bumming around the house, cleaning, working out, sleeping or any other task that may have dirtied or caused damage to my rings, I didn’t wear them.

When we returned from Florida, I put them on one more time. My rings are beautiful. One of Ash’s last gifts to me before he passed away was a new wedding band of my choice and resetting the diamond to something that was more my style (my original wedding rings were his Great Uncle Gil’s (well, technically Uncle Gil’s wife, whose name I can’t recall) and while beautiful, they were never exactly my taste.) So, together, we picked out my new setting and wedding band. When I put them back on, after being away, and I looked at them, glistening on my left ring finger, it not only made me feel extreme sadness, but it also filled me with so much loneliness, it took my breath away. They were a symbol of our union, our marriage, our life together, until death do we part. And death had parted us. I am not married. Ash is not here. I am a widow. And the rings remind me of 1. everything we had but b. everything we lost. And I don’t need a daily reminder of everything we have lost.

Ash gave me a diamond necklace for Jack’s first Christmas back in 2010. It is rare that you will ever see me without this necklace on. Even the boys call it my marriage necklace because I just don’t take it off much. So I still honor my late husband. I still, and always will, love my late husband. I just don’t wear the rings. Right or wrong, judgment or no judgment, I probably won’t wear them again. For me, they are a symbol of something that we lost. I will have them always. I will cherish them always. And one day, maybe one of my sons will give them to the woman of his dreams (so long as I approve of her! Ha!). As for me, I will wear my marriage necklace proudly, as I always have and move on with life because there’s no other choice.