After I lost my second wedding ring (maybe I’ll tell about that some day if I can think of a reason), I went without until my mother could no longer tolerate my bare left hand and gave me her old wedding ring.

Tony watched to see how long I could keep it. Fifteen years later, both of us were amazed I still had it.

So when Tony sold his bird dog Mike for big bucks, he gave me one more chance. Diamonds from my husband sparkle on my left hand again and have for some time now. (I like to think it is the front half of Mike.)

If you’re into symbolism, losing two wedding rings could mean several things. I have decided, though, that what it means literally is enough to contemplate: It means we aren’t perfect, not close, and haven’t had a perfect marriage, but we’ve hung in there, and we’re so glad we did. We’re ecstatic that we did.

The evening we walked together and I told Tony I’d like to start over, he said he understood; he said he would like to have done things better, too. But he has always looked at that differently than I, and aren’t I glad?

He says that mistakes come with living and that regretting the past is futile. He says the years we’re in now and the ones coming up are bound to be the best.

Tony has always given me the gift of “today.“ It is a tender grace beyond compare.

Marriage, as many of us have come to know it, is reason enough to leave father and mother. It is reason enough to buy one more ring. It is reason enough to give thanks, earnestly and profusely, until death do us part.