Eight pounds to be exact.
Enough to make my rings tight.
Then, this past week I have had itchy hives all over.
My hands must have swelled too, because my rings got even tighter. Tight enough to be uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Too tight to come off.
Three nights ago I decided I really needed to get them off.
I soaked my hands in ice water in an attempt to reduce the swelling. Even a little bit would help.
My wedding and engagement rings came off.
The ring on my right hand did not.
I told my husband. He told me that maybe I should think about getting it cut off. We talked about how my father had to get his ring cut off his finger years ago.
I was persistent. I tried oil.
I pulled and pulled. Little by little it came over my rather large knuckle.
I was so relieved!
The next day I decided to go through my closet to find things to donate to Goodwill. Among other things, I pulled out a couple of old pocketbooks that I haven't used in a while and put them in the growing pile.
Yesterday I walked by that pile and decided I had better go through those pocketbooks to make sure I didn't leave anything in them before taking them to Goodwill.
Look what I found.
A man's ring.
My father's ring.
I don't remember putting it there.
My dad has been gone for more than two years.
I lay in bed thinking last night with my dad's ring next to me on my nightstand.
What is the likelihood that these two events would happen within 24 hours of each other?
Coincidence?
I think not.
I'd like to think of it as a gift.
Thanks, Dad.
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