Yesterday I did something I just don’t do. In the post-shower hustle and bustle of the morning, as I tied my tie and put on my belt and retrieved my wallet, keys, cell phone, and other paraphernalia, I somehow forgot to put on my wedding ring.
During the more than 29 years Kish and I have been married, slipping that gold band onto the ring finger of the left hand, and then having it there during the day, has been an unvarying part of my life. Yesterday I noticed that I had forgotten it when I was on the freeway headed to the office, because my hand just felt . . . different. And then, during the day, the ring’s absence became increasingly noticeable. I realized that I often unconsciously swivel the ring around my fingers or slide it up and down as I am reading, and I missed doing that. I missed its exquisite heaviness — to steal a phrase from Auric Goldfinger — and its warm, glittering color.
The ring also is a powerful, visible symbol and affirmation of the fact that I am a lucky man, and I often look at it and smile inwardly at my good fortune. I missed wearing the ring for that reason most of all.