Jason and I nearly called it quits our first year of marriage.
I attribute our hesitancy to our stubbornness and aversion to divorce at the time.
“You’re miserable? Push through. God hates divorce.”
Years later, we found out we each secretly hoped the other would just end it.
I’m so glad we didn’t share that at the time. Who knows what might have happened.
But by all intents and purposes, we should not have gotten married. In fact, I asked him if we could postpone our wedding and deal with our issues first.
His response floored me.
“If you postpone the wedding, we’ll never get married.”
And for those of you watching at home, he didn’t mean we would live together in sin; he meant we would break up.
I hated his ultimatum, but I didn’t want to lose him.
We decided to start planning our wedding, which was next to impossible since he had accepted a job in a new city and moved two hours away.
I wanted a winter wedding, but Jason’s best man was in pharmacy school and summertime was the only option for him.
Fine, I thought. But my bridesmaids' dresses will still be aubergine.
We survived that season of our lives by the skin of our teeth.
But this article isn’t about the days leading up to my wedding or my actual wedding day.
It’s about my wedding ring.
Since Jason was in another city, I went wedding ring shopping with my mom.
I was having trouble finding a ring I loved until a saleswoman pulled a ring out from under the counter. It was gorgeous and reminded me of my Russian heritage, which unfortunately reminded me of my Russian grandmother who had passed away three years prior after an aneurysm took her life.
It was an emotional moment as my mom and I looked at the sparkling diamonds and simultaneously had the same thought: I wish she could be here right now.
Despite the heart-wrenching memory, I was in love with the ring, and the saleswomen said she would hold it for me until Jason could come purchase it with me.
But when we went back to buy it, it was gone. They said it was sold to someone else and they never should have offered it in the first place. They ended up selling me a different ring instead.
I was heartbroken, but I accepted reality.
My mom, however, did not.
She stormed into Gordon’s, demanded to speak with a manager, and got my ring back, or one that looked eerily similar.
I’m still not sure how she did it, but I’ll always be grateful to her for that.
That day, I vowed to never let my ring out of my sight.
It was August 6, 2014, and I was in the kitchen making shrimp fajitas. I decided to take off my wedding ring because shrimp are gross and all I could picture was the bacteria that was sure to grow on my ring if I didn’t remove it.
While in bed that night, I felt my heart drop when I realized I had left my ring on the countertop. Even though we’ve never been robbed (knock on wood), I was convinced tonight would be the night someone would come through our back door and steal my precious metal.
As I felt my way around the dark kitchen, I felt my hand graze my ring, then was shocked when it bounced off of me, and then silence. Not one indication of where it landed.
Jason grumpily got out of bed and helped me look for it with a flashlight. No such luck.
Friends and family even helped us look but to no avail.
While I could quickly summarize my feelings at the time, my journal entries speak volumes:
August 7: I should probably start out with a light-hearted entry, but my heart is anything but light right now. In fact, I can’t remember the last time it ached like this. Thanks to a freak encounter in the kitchen, my wedding ring is currently nowhere to be found. I realize it’s very common for people to lose their wedding ring. Sadly, even my mom lost part of hers. It may sound strange but I almost wish I had lost it somewhere else. At least then it would be completely out of my hands.
Currently, my kitchen looks like a tornado hit it; fridge pulled out, trash bags rummaged through (I can’t even talk about the fact that it’s trash day; having trouble breathing thinking about that possible scenario, but I digress) pots and pans everywhere, dust covering the floors from numerous attempts to pull things out from under my fridge. And to make matters worse, my kitchen was clean before all this and now it’s nothing short of a disaster. I absolutely cannot function around clutter. The chaos affects my thoughts, mood, everything.
Jason came home from work and we looked for my ring once more, including digging through trash containing old salmon and miscellaneous vegetables. Side note: old salmon smells horrible. Jason also investigated Dexter’s poo, just to be sure. Insert best husband award here.
He found his extra wedding band and put it on my finger and said, “Look, little bear, now we match. Team Hassig!” I couldn’t help but smile, but inside I knew it would just be a constant reminder of what I had lost. /Sigh
I realized that I should be careful of how much emotion Jason sees from me. I mean, after all, the ring is a symbol of our love for each other, not my love for my ring. My ring may be currently gone, but he’s still here; still here helping me look, lifting the fridge, rummaging through trash, staying up till 2 in the morning wiping my tears and reminding me that everything is going to be okay. And that’s what’s truly irreplaceable. Not some piece of jewelry that can be disappear in an instant.
August 8: Today was a little better but not much. Mostly because I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel about losing such a sentimental object? So many questions. Is it natural to feel incredibly heartbroken over something so temporary? ‘Cause I do. And how long do you look before you consider buying another one? And, most importantly, why the hell didn’t I just stay in bed? Ugh.
All aboard the pity train. Jason got home early today and proceeded to check the last thing off our list: The sink pipes. And to no avail. My heart is literally aching right now, and the situation feels hopeless. Only Day 2 and it feels like it’s been 2 months. I’m so upset at myself for trusting my gut and going to retrieve my ring. I actually feel intense anger. I don’t even know if it’s still in my house or if it got caught on something and was carried out. I just wish I could know to stop looking or keep looking. It’s maddening. I’m trying to not let it affect me so intensely but I’m failing miserably at that goal. I want to burst into tears anytime I look down and see my bare finger. I just keep picturing him slipping it on my finger on our wedding day.
Time for dinner. Tilapia with mango salsa, and tears, lots of tears. I’m really trying to reign them in around Jason, but they just won’t stop coming. It hurts to breathe.
August 9: Day 3 of waking up and wishing this was all a dream. Just finished looking under the fridge and oven one final time. My heart can’t take looking anymore. I wasn’t sure if my feeling that it was gone forever was accurate or if I was just being cynical. I’m starting to think it’s the former.
August 10: Intense anger kicked in today. Started cleaning like a banshee so I could at least use the negative emotion positively. I hate that I’m feeling this but I have no idea how to work through it. I’m pissed that my ring is gone.
August 12: I keep hoping this is all a bad dream. And every time I realize that it’s not, my heart breaks all over again. I’ve come to realize that I can’t expect to get through a day without crying at some point. Today is one of the tougher days. Tomorrow marks one week since I lost it and I’m struggling to stay positive.
Went to Walmart and J picked out a loaner ring for me, complete with a band. “You’re getting quite an upgrade,” he said. While it is bigger than my ring, it’s not a real diamond, and it most certainly isn’t my ring.
J rummaged through the salmon trash one last time and informed me there were maggots in it. Apparently that happens when you’re afraid to throw away trash.
There’s a part of this story I haven’t been able to share, but that all changes today.
You see, my husband works for a prophetic ministry, and his boss is a prophet. She has an incredible heart for people and truly believes she’s called by God. But my being privy to the inner workings of a ministry is what eventually led me to leave the faith. You can read about that here.
In December of 2014, Jason and I attended his work Christmas party. I was still clinging on to my faith for dear life, so I decided to share my ring story with his boss and see if God saw her a fit vessel to reveal its location. Part of me believed God would reveal it only if it was his will; the other part of me was a few threads away from my beliefs unraveling completely.
Through tears, I shared my story with her, even though Jason had already brought it up as a prayer request months earlier.
She listened and empathized, but that was it. Not even an inkling of where to look.
I was devastated and kicked myself for putting so much stock in her response.
Where was the prophecy about me finding it in the unlikeliest of places, showcasing God’s undeniable power?
How convenient that she’s full of — albeit, vague — prophecies for other people, but no prophecy for me when it comes to revealing where the hell my ring disappeared to.
I struggled to hold back tears for the rest of the night.
In April of 2015, we had granite countertops put in, and I held out one last glimmer of hope that somehow my ring would appear and this nightmare would be over.
I didn’t want to mention to the workers that there might be a diamond ring around, but I also couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least ask them. The skeptic in me pictured one of them finding it, staying silent and taking it home to his wife.
I stayed in our bedroom because I couldn’t mentally handle looking one more time.
Jason came into the bedroom looking disheartened and shared the grim news.
I nearly canceled plans with friends that night.
April 25: I finally had to come to terms with the fact that my ring had in fact fallen in the trash and been put through an incinerator. I was angry and may have thrown my chapstick just so I could hear something make a noise when I dropped it. Though a cup of tea nearby seemed more ideal, the thought of having to clean up shards of glass and liquid deterred me from hurling it across the living room.
I went into my dark bedroom closet, closed the door, sat down, hugged my knees, and just wept.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways”
On April 27, after I had given up all hope of ever finding my ring again, I noticed the dishwasher wasn’t opening correctly. So to rectify the situation, Jason took off the baseboard in front of the dishwasher and revealed…
My ring was there the whole fucking time.
While I was making dinner and doing the dishes and sobbing my heart out in the kitchen, my ring was inches away from me.
It was a cruel irony for sure, but I was ecstatic. I finally had my answer to what happened that night: I tried to pick up my ring, didn’t get a good grasp, it flew off the counter, bounced against my body, and flew sideways into the gap between the dishwasher and the cabinet.
You can’t make this shit up.
My POV on divorce has changed since leaving religion. I no longer believe marriage is for life if you’re miserable.
That said, I’m beyond grateful we survived the dark times. The last few years have been amazing, and our marriage is stronger than ever. In fact, we just celebrated 9 years this summer and we’re planning to celebrate our 10-year in Italy.
I have no idea what life will throw at us in the future, but I know we’ll get through it together, which is why I couldn’t help but smile when I posted this on my Instagram:
“I’ve always loved this photo, but it has even more meaning today. One fateful August night, the diamond ring my Texas boy gave me disappeared into thin air. But one glorious April day, after eight tearful months, my husband found it and surprised me once again. Today we celebrate seven years of marriage, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have him by my side for the highs and lows in this crazy thing called life.”
Can you relate to my story? I would love to hear! Leave me a comment down below.
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