It was a Saturday morning in March 1996. My boyfriend was sitting on the couch, my head on his lap. It was early, and I’ve never been a morning person. I was dozing, moving in and out of alertness. I heard him talking to me but didn’t register what he was saying. I opened my eyes and saw the ring. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.
This beautiful ring was white gold, with a central star sapphire and purple amethysts on either side. The star sapphire was a deep periwinkle blue. When held in the sunlight, the sun’s rays shone like a star in the center. The amethysts, my favorite stones, were royal purple and framed the sapphire on either side. I cherished this ring because it was unique and special, just like his love for me. Our love sparked quickly after years of friendship. We got married that August.
Our lives together were full of work, going to concerts, and walking around the city holding hands. He would attend all of my dance concerts, even when the Mets were playing. He’d listen to the game on headphones, take them off during my time on stage, then put them back on while the rest of the dancers were on. Dance wasn’t his thing, but I was.
About a year into our marriage, I was doing laundry in the basement of our building. I was feeling grateful for the convenience of having laundry downstairs, making it simple to stay on top of things. Neither of us were home very often and it was easy to get behind on housework, which was never-ending. As I moved the last of the clothes from the dryer to the basket, I looked down at my hand: The sapphire was gone. I frantically searched the laundry machines and the clothing but I couldn’t find the stone anywhere. I was devastated. I went back to the apartment, sobbing, feeling utterly gutted, and called him.
It took months to get the stone replaced. First they put in a new star sapphire but the amethysts were missing (WTF?!). How had it taken so many months, why had they taken them out, and why didn’t they put the ring back the way it was? The sapphire was a much darker blue than the original, and the star was a bit uncentered, but I was focused on the missing side stones. After another month or two I finally got the ring back, all stones in place, but the amethysts were also different. They were more lilac, almost pink. I was tired of waiting, my naked finger missing my special ring. I decided it was good enough.
Our lives had settled into a comfortable pattern, each of us getting busier with work and other activities and having less time for each other. He traveled for his job as a B2B journalist, I dove into my yoga practice, and we just kept going. We fell into a comfortable and steady pattern.
After multiple moves, graduate school, two children, and many years of financial and other struggles, we were always on the edge of getting ahead when something would happen: a job loss or a major medical expense, that derailed our plans. We chose to divide and conquer with the kids and their activities. Most days we both felt exhausted, and had little time or energy for each other. Sex wasn’t on the table, even when I asked. While he yelled at the umpire on TV, I was alone in our room. I was slowly disappearing in the marriage. I tried to “fix” the marriage by working on myself, but there were two of us.
In 2016 we took our annual family trip to York Harbor Beach in Maine. I had taken off all my rings, earrings, and necklace and put them in my bag for safekeeping. We spent the day at the beach, jumping in the waves until we were numb, building sand castles, and taking photos to remember it all. I played with the kids, but avoided eye contact with him. I spent more time on my towel reading than I had in previous years. He would start talking to me and I didn’t notice until he called my name.
On this day, I felt like I was going through the motions. I was coming to the realization that the marriage was over and that I wanted out, but I wasn’t yet ready to share that with him, or even say it out loud. When it came time to get cleaned up for dinner, I couldn’t find my ring. All my other jewelry was there, but my engagement ring was gone. I searched in the bathroom where I’d gotten changed, I looked in the sand where we’d been stationed, but it was gone.
This time, I didn’t care. I was surprised to notice how right that felt. Somehow my body knew before my mind did. My heart felt settled for the first time in a long time. That’s when I knew that the marriage was truly over.
The ring that started our journey together was gone, and now it was time to move forward alone.
Janine Agoglia is a licensed acupuncturist, yoga instructor, and mom to two young adult men. She has written two books, Living Yoga: One Yoga Teacher’s Journey to Surrender and Intentional Eating: Finding Peace and Balance in Your Relationship with Food, both available on Amazon. She also writes the Substack “Yoga Living 50 and Beyond.” She’s a GenX, Type A, recovering perfectionist who tries to live her yoga practice, both on and off the mat. She lives in Central Massachusetts all by herself, and loves it.
Object-ives features flash nonfiction essays of 500-999 words on the possessions we can’t stop thinking about.
Recommended reading on possessions:
“My Barbells Sad Lament” by Elly Marie (she/her)
A letter from Albert Einstein (Note by Ilana Bean)
“You Inherited Boxes of Family Photos. Here’s Where to Start.” by Kristy Larsen, The Unexpected Genealogist
“The Emotional Architecture of Home: Family rituals, traditions and the little things we pass down” by INKEN & LITA
“Clutter Was the Enemy—Now It’s a Design Choice” by Zoë Sessums, Domino
Loved this story and related to how we can change our attachment to objects over time. Thank you for including my last post in your list of links - most appreciated.
Thank you for recommending my article! I really appreciate it.
I really enjoyed your story. The ring disappearing twice, first as a loss and then as a relief, says more about the marriage than any direct statement could. It's almost like the universe sends us these messages before we're ready to hear them ourselves.