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Dear Friends,

I walked off a cliff yesterday afternoon--and I didn't fall.

Jane didn't want to be buried with her wedding or engagement rings. She insisted I take them off when she died. And I did that. I told her that when she died, I would move my own wedding ring from my left hand to my right after I took her wedding ring off her finger. I didn't do that--until yesterday, the 52 month anniversary of her death.

I've felt that moment coming for a few months now. In February, I listened to a story on the radio in which a woman talked about the decision to take off her wedding ring after her husband's death. Like me, she had not done it immediately. But, eventually, she realized she was no longer the person she had been--and that her ring no longer defined, or even symbolized, who she was. It was time.

The day Jane died I fully intended to move my ring to my right hand. But I got caught up in the notifications and the paperwork--and besides, I told myself, the ring was too small to fit on my right hand; it would need to be resized first. The truth, of course, was I was not ready to stop being married--I was not ready to be a widower.

So the ring stayed where it was for the wake and the funeral--I would make the switch at the cemetery when we left the grave. It didn't happen then either--there had been no time to get the ring resized. At least that is what I told myself. The fact I wore Jane's wedding ring and engagement ring on a chain around my neck for the next several months should tell you all you need to know about the emotional state I was in and why my own ring stayed right where it was.

The only reason I stopped wearing her rings was I was terrified I would break them. Every time I picked up something heavy it crushed the rings into my chest. They live in my safe deposit box now. I know no one will ever wear them again while I am alive. My executor will have to figure out what to do with them--and the rest of Jane's jewelry.

I thought about taking the ring off on our anniversary, on Jane's birthday, on the first anniversary of her death. On the third anniversary of her death, I even went so far as to talk with a jeweler about how long it would take to get the ring resized. Periodically, I would wear the ring on my right pinky, where it fit loosely, just to see if I could bear it. Then it fell off in the back of the car when I was putting some plants in. I thought I had lost it--and realized how unprepared I was for that.

September 2 of last year was our 25th anniversary--the anniversary Jane had always joked we would never get to unless we counted in dog years. I thought, briefly, about making the switch then. But even the month leading up to that date told me what an emotional tsunami the actual day would be. I took a single-serve bottle of champagne to her grave that day. I drank half and poured the rest above where her casket is buried.

Fifty-two is an important number for me for many reasons. It is the number of months between death and rebirth in my religious practice. It is the day of the last readings for the dead because on that day one leaves the garden to become a child again in the physical world.

An earthly marriage may survive death, but it should not survive rebirth. That thought came to me on Monday when I woke up. Perhaps I dreamed it. Perhaps Jane said it to my soul in the night. But I knew wherever it came from, it was true. It made this week, which I already knew was going to be hard, much harder.

On Thursday, I took my ring to the jeweler and left it there. That afternoon, they called me to say my ring was ready. It slid on easily but did not want to come off. I knew then it was the right decision. Eventually, I got it back on my left hand for one final day.

Friday was a dismal day of rain and fog and raw cold. I collected three stones from the yard, placed them in the car with the books for the final readings, my walking stick and my prayer shawl. I picked up the flowers I place on her grave each month. I drove to the cemetery.

In the slow drizzle, I rearranged the Easter flowers, put the new flowers in the cemetery vase I had brought with me, and placed the stones. I donned my shawl and placed my walking stick against the gravestone. I did the formal readings. The pages curled in the dampness.

I set the books aside. I moved my ring from my left ring-finger to my right ring-finger. The drizzle diminished to a mist. I talked with Jane for a few minutes, then left three kisses on the stone above her grave with four "I love you"s. As I turned to leave, a sudden wind came up and slid the shawl gently from my shoulders as Jane said good-bye.

I laughed then. It was so like Jane. She always lightened even the most solemn or difficult moments.

I came home. I worked on some Walking with Jane things, did some reading, watched Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor in Silver Streak. My left hand feels funny where my wedding ring lived for 25 years, seven months and eight days. My right hand feels funny because of the unaccustomed weight of that ring. Both hands look funny.

Until yesterday, I was still a husband, for all that Jane was 52 months dead. Today, I am a widower--and the world feels different.

This is not to say that taking off a wedding ring is a magical act that immediately alleviates grief and ends all the emotional difficulties that go with the death of a loved one. I've had to stop several times in writing this because I could no longer see the keyboard or the screen through the tears. I've had to stop other times because the emotions became too strong for words.

I know several people here who have worn their wedding rings far longer than I have and have accepted their widowhood in ways I still haven't. For me, this morning, I see my refusal to move my ring as the symbolic denial of Jane's death that it was. But my life is defined by symbols. I imbue things with symbolic power far beyond human norms. Not everyone does that.

For most people, I think, a ring is a ring and a grave is a grave. For me, Jane's grave is an anchor for my grief. That anchor allows me to function more or less normally in the outside world. When grief threatens to overwhelm me, I can go there in my mind. And when I stand there I can let myself feel the torrent of its soul-shattering force without being shattered by it. Like the Japanese characters in Shogun, Jane's grave became, for a time, a box I could place my grief in when a situation demanded my focussed attention.

I don't deal well with strong emotions, either in myself or others. But I am a very emotional person. I can either find a way to control the release of my emotions or give them full sway and let them destroy me and everyone and everything around me. The result is that I can come across, on first encounter, as cold and distant--almost heartless. Eventually, people begin to understand that cool logic is a coping strategy that makes it possible for me to function.

I surround myself with symbols. In fact, nothing that remains in my life, other than people, escapes evolution into some kind of archetypal symbol with its own purpose. A hat and coat are more than mere protections against sun or cold. My dress coat, for example, is a representation of Jane and my grandfather, both of whom protected me from cold far worse than any winter wind can conjure. When I put it on, I feel their arms embracing me with a different kind of warmth.

Each house plant, each wreath, has a story and a meaning. Its placement in the room or on the door has a purpose that goes beyond the decorative. Giving away even the least used of Jane's clothes was difficult because each was a part of her story--and of our story together.

But a blouse, a plant, a piece of furniture, is not a wedding ring. Over the course of our marriage, my wedding ring never left the finger Jane put it on. Until the morning of her heart surgery, when she had to take it off against the possibility of her hand swelling during surgery, Jane's had never left her finger either. She insisted no one but me would ever take it off--and that morning, I did.

My ring is a simple circle of gold. There is nothing physically fancy or remarkable about it. But Jane put it on my finger, just as I had put hers on her finger. Only she should have taken it off my finger. In her absence, it took me 52 months to figure out how and when and why to do so.

Peace,

Harry

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Harry, it IS a big deal. I had to remove my wedding band at some point because my fingers swelled and it would have cut off my circulation...I didn't want it to reach the point where it'd have to be cut off, destroying the ring. It sat in my jewelry box for years. Last summer I decided it was time...it cost me $275 to have it resized due to the mixture of yellow gold and platinum and the inscription that would have to be redone. I wore it on my left hand. I got a snide remark from a friend about it. I ignored her, it's my hand, my ring, my decision, and I alone know what feels right to me. Then I lost weight and had to switch it to my right hand, where it's still too loose. I take it off and put it in a heart shaped dish at night for safe keeping, esp. since it's loose. the other morning I woke up and the dish was empty. Panic set in as I looked for it, flipping on the light, turning the couch upside down, moving things, until at last I found it. The relief that set in!

I have instructed that my daughter get my wedding band and my son get George's wedding band upon my death...it is to be a remembrance of the love we shared as the kids witnessed our love first hand.

Only we can know what feels right. If a person wants to wear their ring the rest of their life, so be it! It shouldn't matter to anyone else whether it's on the right hand, left hand, or a chain around our neck. It's what makes US comfortable and only WE know what feels right.

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Dear Kay,

Exactly. We have to feel right about what we do. I felt an early draft of this piece came across too much as saying, "This is what you should do." That's not what I wanted--not what I was trying to say. Eventually, I threw that away and started over again from scratch. I wanted to tell my story, but tell it in a way that said, "This is what was right for me and how I got there, but it is my story, not yours. What you decide may be entirely different because we are different people with different experiences, needs and beliefs."

I've struggled for 52 months to find a way to reconcile Jane's last wishes on this subject with the things that were my needs. I finally got there this week. But no one should read this as any kind of edict on the subject. It was my answer--and this is how i got there. People may find it useful who are experiencing similar turmoil--at least I hope so--if only to understand they are not weird for feeling conflicted by it.

Peace,

Harry

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"This is what was right for me and how I got there, but it is my story, not yours. What you decide may be entirely different because we are different people with different experiences, needs and beliefs." Harry

Thank you, Harry, for this piece. It is as it is with our grief too. We are all unique in our grief and as we have learned over the months or years it is our way and only our way of grieving and dealing with it.

Tools for Healing are just that ~ they are tools. Everything we read or listen to are guides on this journey. It is our journey and we do it the way it is best for us. I think that is why this forum is such a healing place. No judgments just huge listening ears that allow us to journey through this maze the way it is best for us.
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Thank you Harry for such a very personal piece. As I read it, I could feel just what you were going through. I know I am no where near ready to make any sort of decision about my wedding ring. But I experienced the same thing. When they were ready to take Mark's body to the examiner, they gave me his personal belongings and the only thing left was his wedding ring, still on his finger. I said the same thing; so bittersweet that it was I who put that ring on his finger, and it was me who took it off. I wear it on top of my wedding band, wedged between my beautiful ruby engagement ring and a ruby band. Mark felt that diamonds were a dime a dozen, but rubies were rare like the love he had for me. He LOVED being married and was very proud to wear his band. I know how much it meant to him, so I wear it in his honor. I understand the vows, 'til death do we part. I have a hard time feeling that I am not married anymore. I still feel my soul joined to his. I was sitting on the swing in the backyard with the dogs, and turned my head towards the garage wishing he would come walking out to sit next to me.

You show so much courage Harry. When I think of getting to the point of having to let go, it terrifies me. I just feel like I found him, and now he is gone. Your words were so beautiful. I think part of me mourns with you. Thank you for sharing.

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Maryann, rubies were special to us also...they say diamonds are forever, but rubies meant to us the fire in our relationship. I designed our rings, while separately George was designing a necklace for me...they were identical, even down to the inscriptions, showing our like minds! (soulmates thru all time)

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My wedding gift from Mark was a heart shaped pendant made of rubies. I haven't taken it off since I put it on for his service. In honor of our anniversary, I purchased another band with rubies and diamonds and I wear it behind the one Mark gave me as a wedding band. My gold wedding band is a spacer between my ruby band and my engagement ring, which is a ruby circled by small diamonds. It is like having Mark wrapped around my finger because I know how much love he put into these rings. That is why the idea of removing them terrifies me. I remember our first Valentine's Day and he sent me flowers...it was tulips. He explained in his card that roses are so common and that I was anything but common. I still have the dried petals from those tulips, and the ribbon that was weaved through the arrangement was a part of my wedding bouquet. I was so lucky to be loved by him. He brought me safety and the idea that someone had my back. I waited my whole life to have someone who would love me with the depth he did. And that allowed me to love him deeper than I could imagine. The night before he died and we were at dinner, I looked at him and realized I loved him even more then than on the day we were wed. Things weren't always perfect; Mark had his demons to fight. But I stood by him as he did, and never wavered in the love I had for him. These rings are a testament to that love.

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And you never need to remove them. That is the neat thing about this journey, we can do it OUR way. It sounds like you had a love that was like ours. :wub:

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Dear Harry

Thank you for a lovely piece. We all have our different ways of dealing with these things. For me it's to keep my rings on my hand where Pete placed them over fifty years ago and to have his ring on my right hand. I too invest objects with enormous meaning. His pens are really significant, to the extent that it worries me. I let our little grand daughter use one last week and she lost the top and I felt enormous panic (we found it). I wore Pete's watch until the strap broke and then I wore it on a chain around my neck but now the battery has gone and I'm waiting until I get to a shop where they can replace it. I sleep in our bed with under his pillow two of his sweat shirts which I think haven't been washed since he wore them. As I slip into bed at night I feel comforted and I think it's because of them. Maybe this sympathetic magic is rubbish but it isn't to me so it isn't.

I live in our cottage which I try to keep unchanged within limits. I think maybe my attitude, three years after he died, shows enormous vulnarabilty, but I've learnt one imprtant lesson from grief It is what it is.

I do try to do stuff which pushes boundaries a little bit. I live an independent life, I smile, I laugh, I look normal, I have friends. But if I analyse my behaviour I realise I still live with very active grief and pain. And symbols are hugely imprtant to me as, reading your heart felt piece, I realise they are to you. So I know that we all have our own ways of dealing with symbols.

I love to read what you write Harry.

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Well written Harry. There will always be the right time for everything and how wise not force ourselves to do otherwise. I found it particularly moving when you explained about having to stop several times during writing your post. At 50 months, I have those moments too. Thanks for sharing.

Stephen

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Harry,

It is nice to meet you. Thank you so much for sharing your story. It really resonated with me. Some of my husband, Daniel's things I have already given to friends that I know he would want to have them. But like you so eloquently described, his wedding ring is much more than an object to me. It is a representation of our life together.

We chose Claddagh rings for our wedding rings. It is a traditional Irish symbol with a heart for love and a crown for loyalty surrounded by hands showing friendship. When worn on the left hand with the heart pointing toward your own, it symbolizes that your heart has been given to another. This felt perfect for us as he was not only the one I loved and married but also my best friend and confidante. You can see on the picture below all of the dents and scratches that recorded the 13 years that he wore it before I took it back on that last morning.

I felt tears on my cheeks as I read your post. Firstly, for you. I can imagine what a momentous decision that was. I hope that the rituals and comforts of your religious practice are a balm for you as you re-balance the weight in your heart and on your hands.

But I also admit that selfishly I was crying for myself because I too feel the weight of Daniel's ring on my finger in a intense way. I've added his ring to my middle finger next to the one he gave me both on the left hand. Whenever we faced a difficult challenge in our lives, we would always joke and clink the rings together. "Wonder Twin Powers Active!," we would whisper. For us, this meant that together we could overcome any obstacle. (And perhaps that we were a bit too geeky with the comic book references.) I find myself clinking the rings together now whenever I feel overwhelmed.

I'm glad that you felt Jane there on the wind with you on that difficult day.

Amy

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Well written Harry, a lovely piece about the meaning of the rings to you and Jane. Before Mike died, I had lost the diamond out of the engagement ring. We talked about replacing the whole set, so when Mike died I was wearing the band only. I decided after his death to replace the diamond, I wanted the set he had bought. The arthritis in my hands made wearing the set impossible on my left hand, so early on I moved both rings to my right pinky, with a small turquoise pinky ring holding them on. I still wear them to this day. Always will. Today would have been our 25th wedding anniversary, and coming here today and reading your post about rings was special to me.

QMary

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  • 1 month later...

Dear friends,

While I moved the ring from my right hand to my left on April 10, I have, outside people who have read this post, not made any real announcement of that fact locally before our Walking with Jane board meeting yesterday. It fit into something I was talking about with regard to my mental state since our last meeting, so it seemed the right time to let the people on the board know.

After nearly six weeks, the indentation on my left hand is still there, nearly as sharp as the day I moved the ring off of it.

Peace,

Harry

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Harry

Thanks for this article. I notice that you stsrted this thread on the 10th Anniversary of my wife's death. I used to contribute to this group for a few years, but found that became unable to offer any constructive help to others here, so now I just "check in" one in a while to see how things are going. I notice that you and others who were here when I was more active continue to offer helpful and thoughful articles and I thank you for that.

I kept my ring, and later added my wife's ring on my left hand as a reminder of the strong everlasting love that we shared. As I continued to age the finger swelled and recently I had to stop wearing both. I still have the indentation to remind me and when that is gone I will try to wear the rings once again.

The decision whether or not to continue wearing a ring is obviously a personal one - in my opinion there is NO right or wrong answer.

Peace and Love to all......

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My dear Walt, it is a joy to "see" you here once again ~ You were ~ and are ~ one of our most beloved members, and I've always kept you and your precious Jean in my thoughts and prayers, and tucked safely in my heart. Peace and love to you as well, dear one.

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Hi, Walt, I've wonder about you and Evelyn and Karen B. and it's good to see you checking in here!

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