I lost my ring. I lost my ring. I lost my wedding ring.

My stomach churned; I actually felt physically ill about my ring. I felt paralyzed by the loss, unable to concentrate on other tasks, and simultaneously surprised that I should feel so keenly. Yikes, it's not even alive. Why should a piece of jewelry matter so much? Besides the price-tag, what was the value in it?

Matt lost his original wedding band within months of our wedding; he lost his second (very cheap) band a few years later. (That one was miraculously recovered by the buyer of our old townhouse, who found it wedged into the carpet at the bottom of a closet.) I was never more than briefly exasperated at those losses. Surely, our rings weren't actual representations of our marriage--something that could be lost or found, missed or not. Surely we were stronger than the gold on our fingers.

But my ring. MY ring. Looking at my ring--even just a glance as it glimmered above my steering wheel--immediately invoked memories. A proposal. A ceremony. A sudden awareness of the ring's sharp edges as I held my first newborn. The way it sparkled when I had it polished for family weddings. Would those memories seep away if they weren't reviewed regularly, randomly?

Home on the couch, with the little boys down for quiet time, I felt dizzy, discouraged, distraught. Chocolate ice cream didn't help. Lost, lost, lost. My ring and I were lost. My eyes closed as I tried to think.

I saw myself putting the kids in the car, driving to the library, struggling with Nate through every second of storytime, and struggling with Nate as I checked out my books, paid my fine, put my wallet back together so it could tuck into my purse. I saw my hands grasping two little hands, one clamped resolutely on mine, one pulling and fighting to get away. I saw my exasperated arms placing Nate firmly in his carseat, buckling, adjusting, tightening the straps. I remembered holding all my frustrations inside, taking a deep breath, and promising myself I would cope with my book sometime during naptime today. And then...I saw my left hand placed at 12 o'clock on the steering wheel, and there was no glimmer.

I reviewed my routes again when Matt came home for lunch. Yes, I checked the library; I also left my name and number. I retraced my steps in the parking lot--twice. I searched both Nate and his carseat. Nothing. Matt kindly, calmly--why wasn't he freaking out? at least about the monetary loss?--offered to stay with the boys so I could resume my search in the library. I walked out the door quickly, hopefully, and with an instant prayer: "I know this isn't important, but...."

Sitting in the front seat of the car, I thought maybe I should double-check the car before I left. Still nothing but my deep, upset sighs. One more place, I thought--my purse? Just receipts, coupons, receipts, why do I keep all these receipts, comb, and...ring. My ring.

Goodbye angst and ache. Happiness and memories are here again. How silly to be so upset about such a little piece of jewelry, when it was safe in my purse all along.

(Thank you for listening to my trivial ramblings.)