Veterans Day was Friday, and I realized that I don't have a lot of friends who are veterans*. Two of my cousins (one deployed now), my grandfather's of course, one deceased Uncle and my Dad in the Navy, one dear friend who was in the reserves (but I remember the day very well when he got his "all clear"), and a friend's husband (who is one of my favorite people to read on Facebook). I'm sure I know more who I can't think of right now.
Then I saw my engagement ring. I never really thought about what kind of ring Dan would get me to propose; I honestly never considered we would get married two years after we met. We lived paycheck to paycheck in The Melody, an old apartment complex across from Warner Bros where they used to house their musicians.
I didn't know that when we visited his family, he had asked his Mom for this ring.
This ring belonged to my mother in law's mother, who gave it to her when she knew she was dying.
It was Dan's grandmother's ring from her first husband, who died in World War II soon after they were married.
They were very much in love, and Dan loved his grandmother very much. I never got to meet her, but he always said we would get along and drink many beers together.
Her photo is one of the only ones we have framed in our kitchen.
After we sang Happy Birthday to Dan on his 28th birthday, he turned around, got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. With a ring I didn't know he'd gotten, with a sad story I hadn't yet heard attached to it, with a stone perfectly suited to our tastes.
I feel honored to wear a symbol of love and sacrifice as a symbol of our love and life.