The day before our wedding, I took the three crisp twenty dollar bills my aunt had given us as a wedding present and went to the jewelry store. For that amount of money, back in the late 70’s, you could purchase a thin gold wedding band. The jeweler made sure it fit Tom’s large ring finger.
That money could have bought some more essential things, but I wanted my husband to have this symbol of my love and commitment with him all the time.
But after a few years, with the rough farm chores, his ring looked like it was getting even thinner. I went to a jeweler and looked at new rings. They had gone up in price along with everything else in those days. But I found one I liked and had them put it on lay-away.
Each month, I put just a little bit more on that ring.
Two year's later, on Christmas Eve, we’d been invited to a friend’s home for an unusual request—Tom was going to dress-up as Santa for their little daughter’s delight. Tom was an incredibly good Santa. I knew he would be. He even had the deep laugh and hearty cheer you expected of Santa.
By the time we reached home after the party, it was nearly midnight. Almost Christmas Day.
I’d picked up the ring a couple days prior and I couldn’t wait to see it on his finger.
Even though his cheeks still bore the bright red rouge of Santa’s make-up, it was Tom’s eyes that truly lit up as he opened the small box. I’d selected a more manly ring that fit his rugged style.
The ring sparkled with the diamond from the promise ring Tom had given to me in college. There weren’t any other gifts that Christmas, but there didn’t need to be—our love was the best gift we had for one another—the ring was just a sweet reminder.
Merry Christmas, my friends.