Beyond Till Death Do Us Part

It felt like a denial of reality. It felt like trying to keep a life that was so clearly no more. When my fiancé suddenly died 26 days before our wedding shock set in, and I entered a very long-lasting state of confusion and in many ways, disconnection from reality. In other ways, however, I had never been more awake. The illusion that my life would continue in whatever order I designed was suddenly and brutally shattered, and in that, I came face-to-face with real life, the real-life I could not have even imagined.

So in many ways, I was more connected than ever. Each moment so intense, I felt everything at a depth I had never before. I will always remember in freeze-frame imagery telling the crew that worked for him the next morning and watching their face reflect a grief that alluded my dissociated self and would only come to me in doses for years to come as not to completely overwhelm my psyche. Or the moment my Dad came into my kitchen where I was discussing the details of his wake and asking, buried or cremated, as the coroner needed to know. Or the look of disbelief on the ladies face at the bridal store. My fitting was days after the accident and I felt the need to go deal with it myself. At the time, this seemed like the logical course of action, although now I see why she treated me as if I were the ghost proclaiming, I never expected to see you.

When someone dies, there are very real time-sensitive actions that need to happen. I had a strong need to take care of many things myself. I wanted them to be as he would have wanted. However, amidst all the doing, I felt a need to get my rings back. I had given my engagement ring to our jeweler to create the wedding band to match. I needed it back, and with it, he gave me my wedding band and what was to be my fiancé’s wedding band. We chose the wedding bands together, but he never got to see his own. I had his sized to fit my finger so I could wear it.

The rings were markers of my transition. Not only in our lives, having gotten to a place of marriage but also after he died. I wore my engagement and wedding ring on my ring finger for a long time. I questioned when I ought to be taking it off. For a time, I put it in a safe, trying to tuck it away as I tried to find me without him. That didn’t last long. For years I wore them on the right hand, switching them back and forth depending on how bad my longing was.

As with all the other steps in learning to loosen my grip on him and the life I had imagined, there came a moment when I knew it was time to address the rings. They no longer brought me joy or security but had shifted into a representation of delusion. A marker of resistance to what is and a tangible representation of what is no longer. I knew from the moment I heard he had died that I was not meant to die alongside him. I knew in my bones that I and all who loved him were meant to grieve and integrate back to life more present than before, now living for us both. We were never meant to be stuck at that moment in time. I saw that through all history, and across all cultures, death is a constant and in that I couldn’t imagine it was not built in us to live through it. Although my culture gives no good examples of how. I was not going to let that deter me.

I stayed close to my heart and listened very carefully to what my gut urged as the next step in the process. Never demanding to see it all at once, just trusting step-by-step. For me, living through his death will likely be a lifelong journey. There is no moment when it will be done with, and I will never sweep it under the rug. It is weaved into the tapestry of who I am. I am who I am because of him, his life, our life, his death and my loss. But I feel that I am to make use of it all. Nothing meant for basement boxes, but to be reworked into the current version of my life to give it richness. I can try to deny reality, or tuck it away hoping the adage of out of sight out of mind works, but in that, I am always at the mercy of it creeping back up. Instead, I have lived by the adage that one only throws a stick for a lion once. A yoga teacher once shared the fable that went something like this, when you chase after whatever thought comes up, you are like a dog chasing a stick: wherever and whenever the stick is thrown, you run after it. Instead, be like a lion who, instead of chasing after the stick, turns to face the thrower. One only throws a stick for a lion once. That last line really stuck with me. I choose. In some I have no choice but in all beyond that I choose. And turning and looking is scary, but for me, it’s far more frightening to give up in the moments I am meant to be a co-creating. Learned helplessness was not what was meant to be learned.

A while ago I had the knowing it was time to take my rings and make them into something else. Take all three of the rings and create one beautiful work of art. A thing of beauty, an evolution from then to now.

Emily and I had met at a yoga event, and I followed her as she honed her skills as a goldsmith. The moment came when she posted some new work, and it resonated with me. I asked her if she would take this project on. We refined our vision over time and through the demolition of the rings that were to represent my marriage she created the ring that is. The destruction of the rings I had necessary to create the ring I now have. For me tucking it all away in an effort to keep it as it was is not a respectful process. Not to myself, not to my love, and not to this life I have been given. I am meant to refine it. His time meant something, our time together meant something, and my time after his also means something.

I have recreated a beautiful life. I have also become much more connected to my shadow side and pain. And while I would never have chosen that as my path, the reality is it was what was laid out for me and my choice really only how I would navigate it. I choose to make the most of it. Of it all. I take it with me as I go. All the love, all the hardship and all that was. Shall we meet again I know he will be proud of all the life I lived even though it’s nothing like we had imagined together, it’s still beautiful.

For me there was no reason to keep them as is.They no longer represent all they were meant to, yet far too precious to discard, or hide away.
Transformation, to come alive in another way, to be reborn.
Just as I too had to take all my pieces and transform them to come back to life.
Here is the reincarnation of our rings into something that feels more honest to me today.