April, I think, is my month. Sure, Kansas may have narrowly lost to Kentucky, thus costing me the bracket jackpot. But I still came closer to winning March Madness than I ever have before and that counts for something. And, yeah, okay, I did walk into the bathroom on Sunday night (after Wes’ delayed flight finally arrived) to find a cockroach crawling up my toothbrush. I screamed and my husband rushed in to save the day and kill the cockroach while I set about changing toothbrush heads. But even in that there was some luck. If I didn’t have to pick Wes up at the airport I would have been slumbering peacefully when the cockroach decided to defile my toothbrush and then I would have been brushing my teeth with a cockroachy toothbrush. And Wes was there to kill it so that I didn’t have to deal with it. See? Lucky.
Last month was not so lucky. I was vomiting near daily, sometimes multiple times. One weekend was particularly difficult. Monday I found a half-dead mouse in the house and had to capture it and then drop it in the garbage and hope it died quickly because I was too chicken to “smash it with a hammer” like my husband suggested. This after a weekend of searching the ocean for my lost wedding band, which I had lost the Friday before. Yes, I wore my rings to the beach and one of my wedding bands slipped off because I was paying too much attention and fiddling with them too much after I realized I forgot to take them off.
We had a few friends come out to search with their metal detectors, but we mostly found bullets. And then we called a “professional” to come out and search. Between the two groups they found three men’s wedding bands and countless bullets (we live on an old base) but no sign of my ring. So we started the replacement process with insurance and our jeweler. Dale, the “professional” who came out to search, said that it was worth his time to come back and search and he’d let us know if he found anything. And then he asked if he could come to our house to wash off his equipment with our hose. I felt a little odd about it but agreed and hoped for the best.
Weeks went by and we didn’t hear from Dale or the jeweler and I started getting used to two rings instead of two. I started feeling less awful about it. We started getting frustrated at not hearing from the jeweler and made several phone calls trying to figure out what was going on.
And then, Sunday morning there was a knock at the door, and who should be standing there? Dale. With my lost wedding band on his pinkie finger. He said he’d gone back four times, digging out bullets and honing in on the spot where I lost it. He finally found it Sunday morning but then couldn’t find either of our phone numbers (he’s not the most organized person), but did remember where we lived. So many lucky things to get my ring back.
When I told people I lost it everyone commented on the fact that even if we replaced it, it wasn’t the ring I got married with. I told them I had my original engagement ring and one other original wedding band and that was good enough. Only now, typing away with my original ring safely back on my finger am I willing to admit that it is nice to have the original one. To have that story to go with it.