Crazy or not, it got me through. I took it off when I was doing ok, and then put that thing back on when I was feeling shaky.
I wore it last Wednesday and Thursday, to Teri's visitation and funeral.
Over 400 people signed the guestbook on Wednesday evening. 100 or so people attended the funeral on Thursday. I hugged almost all of those people, multiply and fiercely.
Friday I found myself with a bruise on my breastbone, where that ring had been pressed into my torso 1000 times or so over the course of the last few days.
My father, my sister, a sweet, sweet, bittersweet bruise over my heart. I keep touching that bruise to see if it still hurts. I don't want it to go away; I'd wear the bruise over the ring forever, if I could.
Today was a tough day: we headed back to work today.
The 4th day after her funeral, we snapped to attention and returned to our routine.
It knocked me off my ass. Would I not die when she did? Could I ever tell my mother? The visitation, how could I ever live through that? The funeral, would I survive?
Lord Have Mercy, I hadn't anticipated "moving on."
The alarm went off this morning, and it was "Here we go: Life without Teri." It seemed terribly too soon, and I knew for a fact that whatever I was feeling, her husband was feeling ten-fold as he prepared for work this morning. I texted him: "U holding up?" He sent me back an OK, then another, checking on me.
"Yeah, kinda hard to return to routine...feels weird, wrong."
He responded "Yep."
At days end, we spoke and agreed: We'd both have preferred to have had more time to remain..."reverent." It seems too soon, and disrespectful to "move on."
Ah, but we have house payments, and none of us own money trees, and we are thus thrust back into the rat race with our heads still spinning that we can't call Teri on our lunch hour.
We all continue to hold one another up.
It is where we are, on Monday following.