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My finger feels naked. I've had them off for a week, and I still have a mark where they used to be.

I felt like it was time -- I'm dating someone (albeit at a very long distance, so our dates are few and far between), and I was already taking off my real rings and putting on a zirconia "travel" ring that looked less obviously like a wedding ring when I was to see him. So it seemed to make sense to just -- stop.

It still makes me sad, though; it's just one more thing, one more little piece of who I used to be and what I used to have getting sloughed off. Being widowed has been like that, for me ... it seems to happen an inch at a time. Stupid little things become milestones, like taking his name off the car registration, or throwing out another box of never-worn ties (how did he accumulate so many?).

I loved that diamond. He was so proud of it, of being able to give it to me. I'll keep it in the safe deposit box, but I'm going to miss it -- a lot.

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