Holding My Hand Again

Dearest Rachel –

It’s turning into a rather busy day, despite the fact that I took the day off from the ‘office.’ To be sure, the reasons I did would provide fodder for two whole other letters already. The first, of course, being the fact that we were to sat one final goodbye to Kevin, even as he returned to the area for one last time, which I’ve already told you about.

The second reason was a little more of a surprise – more in terms of delivery time than actual arrival. One can’t surprise oneself with one’s own purchases, after all, especially when one only makes these kind of purchases on as rare an occasion as I do. I’m not such a frequent Amazon patron that I forget what I’ve ordered by the time it shows up at my door; only once in a blue moon, when I’m looking at my credit card invoice, do I find myself wondering “now, what was it that I bought, again? and what would I categorize it as?” Anyway, it was supposed to arrive some time early next week, but yesterday I was notified that it would be showing up today, instead. And since it was something I’d have to sign for, I decided that, once we headed home from McAlister’s, I might as well wait for the UPS guy to come by, and then spend the rest of the day…

…well, at this point, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll tell you about that receipt, and my efforts to put it together, later on. Considering how much I’ve already written today, and how much might be involved, that might not be until tomorrow, but i’m sure you can wait until then, can’t you?

Anyway, as I was sitting around in the bedroom, waiting for the doorbell to ring, something else rang instead. And for once, it wasn’t one of those annoying spam calls; thank goodness I make a point of checking the caller identification before I answer with the usual “hello, caller number [whatever], how may I help you?” schpiel.

It was the jewelers’. They had finished your setting, and you were ready to be picked up. However, I wasn’t finished writing you… and I wasn’t going to leave until my shipment arrived, in any event.

***

The doorbell never did ring, though… but that’s fine; the guy knocked barely half an hour after I got the phone call. I quickly set the computer aside for a moment, and opened the door, at which point, the deliveryman made to leave.

“Wait… don’t you need my signature?”

“No, I just need to know you’ve got the package.” And off he went to his truck. Well, okay then.

***

It took maybe another half hour to finish describing the events at the cemetery. But before I headed out, I made sure to confirm I had the funds available to pay for the ring. Thus assured, I made for the car and drove off… only to realize I’d left my checkbook behind at the house. Sure, I suppose I could have paid for it with plastic, but for whatever reason, that didn’t feel like the right thing to do. This needed to be paid for now, and done with; don’t ask me to explain why. I quickly doubled back and retrieved the checkbook.

Indeed, Tim seemed so pleased with his own work that he asked to take a picture of you as well for his own record. As much as this is a somewhat somber circumstance – and slightly ironic in terms of the timing of my receiving your ashes back just as I’ve watched Kevin’s ashes buried mere hours before – he recognizes and appreciates the honor of participating in both ends of the relationship you and I had.

But after some two years without wearing one, it’s odd to put it on, and while Tim isn’t surprised that it fits me – he’d taken my measurements before starting to work on this, after all – it takes me a moment to get used to the sensation.

The band has a certain amount of heft to it, thanks to the solid nature of the ‘white gold’ alloy, and your diamond itself rests in a small hole in the ring; it doesn’t reach through to my finger itself, but it is exposed directly to it.

The pressure of the band around my finger makes it feel like you’re holding my hand again, if only slightly. It’s not much, but it’s nice to have you back, even if it is only in the barest of ways like this.

Welcome home, honey.