Today I worked on the webpage a little longer, making sure all the forms and details for the memorial gathering are in order — so that I’m not improvising, but actually know how many people will attend. It wouldn’t feel right not to have everything properly prepared for everyone who’s coming. I wanted it to be worthy of Ada. Because of that, I went to bed only at 2 a.m.
I woke up at 8:30, had a quick breakfast, and packed something to take along, since I wanted to catch the 9:16 bus. Now I’m sitting on the train to Zurich, doing some admin work again — small things, but they matter when you’re trying to honor someone you love.
And that’s when I noticed something about the wedding ring Ada gave me.
I was deeply touched when she gave it to me, after I once mentioned, sometime after our wedding, that I’d like to wear a wedding band. She had bought it years ago on a visit to Greece, drawn to its unusual design. Back then, it fit her hands — her fingers were much slimmer than mine. And then she gave it to me.
I was so happy that a good friend, a goldsmith, was able to make it fit my thicker fingers. Even after she reworked it, I could barely put it on — but that was how it was meant to be: to fit, and not to be taken off. I loved it so much, and I told Ada that from time to time.
It was made of gold, white gold, and a diamond.
And now, sitting here on the train, I notice for the first time a change in the ring — and I’m sure it must have happened within the last 48 hours: the diamond has fallen out of its setting.
It’s a remarkable coincidence, isn’t it? I can’t stop smiling. All through our life together, the diamond stayed firm in its place — and now, it’s gone.
I still love my beautiful wife. She had such dignity. And I feel honored that she chose to share her life with me.
