Hello readers.

I haven’t blogged since last Thursday. Today, I want to share why. It’s a personal story. I don’t normally share my personal life on this blog, but this weekend I was reminded of the true meaning of marriage and the symbolism of a wedding ring.

Last Thursday was the first day I had been back to my office in Vancouver after being away for a week. I had been away in Toronto where we got the keys to our new loft/office.

A Toronto loft is a dream come true for me. I grew up in Napanee, Ontario, (about two hours east of Toronto) and my entire family still lives there. Parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. Everyone is still there but my sister (who lives in Ottawa) and I. I moved away thirteen years ago and I have often longed for home - and to be closer to my family since the day I left. But, I moved to Vancouver for love and married the man that brought me to the west coast. :) I have come to love Vancouver as home although a piece of my heart lives on the other side of Canada (in Ontario) with my family. So, as you can imagine, I am EXTREMELY excited about buying this loft and having an office and a part time ‘home-base’ near my loved ones.

Late last Wed night I left Toronto. I boarded a flight and flew up into the clouds heading back to Vancouver. I was uncomfortable during the whole flight. I was extremely hot and my eyes were burning. I’m a regular traveler. But, something didn’t feel right and I didn’t know why. I blamed it on a broken heater but it was just an awful flight. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Somewhere between take off and landing, my Nana died in her sleep in Napanee. We know she died Wed night because my step-Mom talked to her just before she went to bed that night. She was excited to go to church the next day. When she didn’t make the regular afternoon call to my Dad’s house, my step Mom got worried and went over to check in on her.

Nan was found in bed, tucked under the covers with her rosary in her hand. As we would heartbreakingly learn, a tattered photograph of my late Grandfather was found under her pillow.

She was also wearing her wedding ring. A simple, gold band with a modest diamond set in a star. She had worn it for 60 years. It was the only piece of jewelry that she ever wore.

My Nana and Papa met in an ice cream parlour in New Waterford, Nova Scotia, when they were teenagers. They were inseparable from that very moment on. My Nana would take her little sister Pauline to the ice cream parlour in frequent under-cover opps to rendezvous with Papa. Once there, Nana and Papa would send Pauline off with a few dimes to go buy something so they could be ‘alone.’ ;)

They were married in their teens. On their wedding day, my Papa slipped that simple gold wedding ring with the tiny diamond on her hand. My Papa was too young and too poor to afford much else. By that time they were living together in Northern Ontario where my Papa was attending university. They had come from poor families and money was not in great supply. The ring was modest, but it meant everything to them. It symbolized that they had become a family.

My Father was born shortly after. The wedding ring was on her hand the first time she held her new little baby boy in her arms. The ring was on her finger the first day they turned the key to the front door of their new home in Scarborough, Ontario, where they moved to pursue a better life just after Papa completed university. The ring would have been on her hand the day she found out that she was pregnant with my Uncle Dale. Sadly, I’m sure it was also on her finger when she discovered her own Mom who also died suddenly in her sleep when Nana was only in her twenties.

Nana had petite hands. They were tiny but “good things come in small packages.” Her hands were loving, soft, gentle, nourishing, caring. Over the years these hands took great care of her soulmate Naish. She was an exemplary care taker. She took great pride in her cooking, baking, ironing, knitting, housekeeping. All of these things she did with the ring always present - to take care of her husband and her boys.

As a child, I remember seeing her wedding ring always on her hand as she spoiled me rotten! (And as she let me get away with just about ANYTHING!) It was there on her finger as she’d tuck me in at night during countless sleepovers. It was there when she would comfort me, even when I had my first broken heart as a teenager. It was there every time she held each of her eight grandchildren as babies and there over time as she watched us all grow up. It was there every time she presented us with a slice of her famous pies (apple pie and meat pie were her specialties). She always had it on as she pressed a twenty dollar bill into my hand every time I’d come over to visit when I was younger. ;)

The ring was there over the years, for the good times and the bad times. Because I know, like any marriage, my grandparents had ups and downs. There were many tough times during their marriage... they witnessed the deaths of many of their siblings and loved ones as they aged. Her ring symbolized the easy days and the difficult ones too.

On top of being an incredible Nana, my grandmother was also a very giving woman. I knew this before she died, of course, because she volunteered in the community by making meals for the elderly and through her work with her church. But I was never as proud of her as I was this weekend. I stood next to her body at the wake and greeted hundreds of people that came through the funeral home to pay their respects. One man caught my eye as he headed up toward me. He was a handicapped man in his fifties. I didn’t recognize him and wondered how my Nana must have known him. As he staggered toward me, barely able to walk, he began to talk. I had difficulty making out what he was saying until his wife interpreted for me. I slowly began to learn that this man was a former neighbor of my grandparents who in his twenties (thirty years ago), was in a motorcycle accident. He was left partially paralyzed and also lost part of his tongue in the accident which made it hard for him to talk. As he continued to communicate to me - through his wife - I learned that my Nana had incredibly - and selflessly - driven this man to his rehabilitation appointments once a week for three years. She did the half hour drive (each way), without fail, every week. And yet, not once, did she ever mention this to me. This man was in tears as he walked away from me. I thanked them both for coming, and for sharing their story with me. His wife said, “people like your grandmother don’t come along that often.” She’s right. I picture her petite hands on the steering wheel of the car as she gave of herself so generously. I wonder if the sun ever caught the tiny little diamond in her ring as she so selflessly drove Harry back and forth all those years.

My Nana was also an incredible nurse. She entered nursing school in her forties, after I was born. I will always admire her for that. I can’t imagine going back to school in my mid forties - let alone as a Grandmother! At the wake and funeral this weekend, countless numbers of people reminded me of what a good nurse she was. I’m sure her wedding ring was also on her finger as she cared for countless numbers of people with her gentle, compassionate, bedside manner.

But, perhaps her most poignant nursing moments came at home. Four years ago, my Papa was diagnosed with cancer. He had been a lifelong smoker, and it had caught up to him. Papa began to fade away during a long, painful period of home hospice care, lovingly provided to him by Nana and my Aunt Cheryl - both nurses. The day he died, my Nana leaned over and whispered, “It’s ok to go, hon. But, don’t you go meeting anyone else up there.” He died in a hospital bed in the living room of the house that they had shared since 1967 in Napanee, Ontario. This was the house that they raised their sons in. This is the house where they lived through the days of rich and the poor, in sickness and health.

My Nana was heartbroken. She was never the same person after he passed away. I think she died of a broken heart.

Since that day when Papa died, I wonder how many times she glanced at her wedding ring - maybe even rubbing it or wiping away tears with that same hand - wishing she could somehow go back in time and spend one more day - one more hour - one more minute with her beloved. Her Naish. The love of her life.

Upon receiving the heartbreaking news of her passing, I flew back to Toronto. Back up into the clouds to head ‘home’ to say goodbye to her. I knew it would be a tough few days - how do you say good bye to someone who you’ve loved your whole life. Someone who has loved you from the moment you were born?

I wrote her eulogy on the long five hour flight and arrived back to Napanee on Saturday. There I saw her - lying in peace, with her wedding ring on her now still hand. True to form, it was the only piece of jewelry she was wearing - other than a pair of tiny gold stud earrings and a white dove on her blouse which symbolized her deep, abiding faith in the Catholic Church.

I wanted her chest to rise. I wanted her to wake up. I wanted her hands to move.

Although we didn’t expect her to pass so suddenly since she was not “sick”, a few days before her death, she told my Dad and his wife that she had been seeing my Papa lying in bed next to her at night, looking at her with his hand under his chin. I’m a believer in signs. I’m a believer in the afterlife. I believe our loved ones come back when the time is at hand to guide us into the other side. My family and I now believe that Papa had come from the other side to take her hand once again and walk together, to the other side.

As the eldest grand child, I had the privilege of speaking on behalf of my family at the service. After the funeral and public luncheon back at the funeral home, we, her family headed back to her house. It was just her ‘core’ family. My Dad and my step-Mom, my Uncle and my Aunt, and the eight of us grandchildren - who range in age from 35 to 15. My sister has my Papa’s eyes. My cousin Laura and I have been told we look like our Nana. My cousin Ryan looks like a young Papa. Each one of us has some physical resemblance to one or both of them. We laughed, cried and spent the afternoon reminiscing about my Nana and Papa both. It was good to be in the house - it felt just like they were both there, with us.

Then, my Dad quietly stepped forward with something he wanted to share with us ‘grand kids.’

He held out a simple, gold wedding band with a modest diamond set in a star and looked toward me. “Angie, as her first born grand-daughter with whom she shared a special relationship, we talked about it and have decided to present Nana’s wedding ring to you.”

I burst into tears. I accepted the ring. I had assumed it would be buried with her but as she is to be cremated, it did not make sense. “She’d want you to have it,” Dad said.

I’m in the business of weddings. I pretty much live, eat and breathe weddings. I publish photos of wedding rings, I read and write stories of new marriages - often with glamorous diamond wedding rings adorning the fingers of brides who we feature. Tonight, as I am flying again, up here in the clouds, heading home to my own husband, miles away from my grieving family, I now wear a simple gold wedding band on my pinky next to my own wedding band. I think I’ll wear it for a few weeks, until I can come to terms with Nana’s sudden passing. For now, it’s giving me immense comfort just feeling as if she’s right here with me. When I’m ready, I will find a beautiful box for it, and keep it tucked away in a special place.

It is a reminder that a wedding ring doesn’t just symbolize a wedding day but rather, a lifetime. I look at my own wedding ring and wonder how old I will be when my own time comes? What will Bruce (my husband) and I have gone through? What will my own wedding band bear witness to? I think of all of the brides who will have rings placed on their fingers this year and in years to come. What stories will they tell? What moments will be marked with wedding bands of young women across Canada who are just now starting their journey with their husbands.

I will honor Nan’s ring and it will be a cherished reminder of two of the most loving, wonderful people I have ever known. It is a testimony to a love story and a marriage that stood the test of time. Nana, your ring is in safe hands.

xo
Angela