The Return of the Ring

From January 1, 2000, until May 2010, I wore one specific piece of jewelry every day: my silver Claddagh ring. It was a Christmas gift from my father that I had begged for after watching one too many episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It wasn't a promise ring, as many people surmised, but it displayed my heart on my sleeve. Finger. Whatever. Whenever I had a crush or a boyfriend, the ring moved all over the place - right hand, left hand, upside-down, right-side-up...

When The Ex and I started dating, that ring was firmly fixed on my left hand; I planned on marrying the guy, after all. When we had to downgrade on Facebook from "in a relationship" to "it's complicated" (about 6-8 months before we actually broke up) my ring moved back to my right hand, and people freaked out and thought we broke up and asked me if I was okay, etc. Point being, the ring has always been there.

When I found out what a douche my father had become, I took it off and stashed it in the back of my jewelry box. I didn't want to wear it because it was a constant reminder of the inconstancy of the best role model I had ever had. I still wore a ring - my hands felt naked without them - but it was weird to not WANT to put it on.

Lately I've been missing it. It was my signature, more than anything else I've ever done or worn, and I felt odd without it. Yesterday, I made a last-second decision while getting dressed to throw it back on, just to test it out and see how it felt. I'd been toying with the idea for a couple weeks now, including finding someone - a priest, a Wiccan, a Buddhist, someone - to do some sort of ritual cleansing/blessing/exorcism on it so I could feel better about it, but I have no idea where to even start on that. But it feels right to have it back on; its smoothness and contours are a part of me now, and even though I probably will never wear it around my father again (assuming I ever see him again, anyway) it's still good to have this part of me back. Maybe I'm recovering.