Last weekend I went to Tenerife to play in a brilliant frisbee tournament that I’ve been attending for over a decade. Ours was one of the last flights to leave Dublin due to the heavy snow and it was really nice to get to the sun, be around the frisbee crew and switch off for a few days.
While I was there, as I do at all tournaments, I took my wedding ring off and clipped it into a special zip pocket of my bag. It stayed there until this morning through a combination of forgetfulness and misfortune. I really missed it on my hand - repeatedly looking to touch it - and worried that somehow it wouldn’t be where I’d left it, in the sand covered bag in the shed.
A simple silver band that we designed together and had crafted by a close friend. Who could imagine how much it would mean and symbolise 30 months after Liane first put it on my finger? I often worry how much I need it and what the emotional cost of losing it would be. And I even wonder if a day will come when I don’t want to wear it any more. That’s an alien thought at the moment and one I don’t like/am not ready for.
Just a small piece of metal and one yet of my most cherished possessions.