The drama of losing things

The drama of losing things

The drama of losing things

This is not about losing people or pets. That’s a place none of us wants to go, even for a minute. No, this is about losing things.

Yes things are things. Things are stuff and we all have stuff we probably can and, in the long run should do without. 

Except those special, near and dear to our hearts things that, if ever lost will bring you to your knees. I have a story about just that. Well, of course I do.

The engagement ring is about as special as any gift a girl will ever receive. Mine was not a surprise ta-da will you marry me moment. I was asked to be a wife and it was a magical moment but I think it even surprised him that the words fell out all over the floor between us. 

I asked him to ask again and to my surprise he did and I accepted expecting a little velvet box to appear.

But alas it did not. A plan to go to the city the next week-end and shop for rings was hatched before the words were picked up off the floor and put in my memory banks. Every story is different. That’s what makes them stories.

Rings, wedding, marriage and life began in earnest. I was into it about nine years and work was constant. Leather gloves were my ever companion. 

Moving railroad ties without gloves will do that to a girl. We were building a planter out front made of said railroad ties. Near lunchtime we quit and went into the house. 

Inside I leaned on the arm of the couch and took off my gloves. I had taken them on and off several times as we worked. 

Sometimes gloves are in the way and are not your friend when trying to drill and pin railroad ties together. 

Nothing different about all we were doing. But! Yes a leathery “but.” When I took off my left glove my wedding ring caught on the lining and when I looked down? 

AARRGGHH My center diamond was gone.

Now several things happened when I looked down and saw my huge, ok just regular sized, diamond was gone. 

Not loose. Not hanging on by a carat. Not askew in the mount. Just gone. Poof. I’m a girl through and through so I screamed and my knees buckled and I went all the way to the floor. It was one of the most memorable and awful moments of my life up until then. 

Of course there have been others since, but I was maybe 28 and I was devastated.

See that was drama. Oh boy howdy was it ever. Some drama is manufactured but that drama was as real as I had felt. 

As drama unfolds so many things fly through you. In this instance of course I was devastated that the nearly a third carat diamond, yes it was colossal to me, it was a goner. 

Then just like a whoosh of a wind blew through I thought, “Could I get a bigger one now?” No I didn’t want a bigger one. I wanted the one I got married with.

Then the thought of what it would cost to replace and how could we ever afford that. Along with, because we lived 250 miles from the city, the logistics of getting a replacement and all that entailed. 

All that and much, much more was in that wail I let out when I saw that gaping spot where MY diamond was sitting that morning when I pulled on my gloves and went out to work. Oh the drama of it all. Seems so, well it still seems dramatic to me.

I often wonder what would create that devastation in a guy. 

Would it be if his car was broken into and his coveted leather jacket from high school was stolen? Of course children have a built in wail if anything goes awry.  

Tons of things happen in our day. What would cause a wail from any of us? We all lose things. We all break stuff that means way too much. 

A wail of drama can come out and it can run the gamut from a long low growl to a high screeching ear piercing dramatic feeling of getting a punch to the gut.

Wondering about my diamond? 

I’d be because I am that nosy. Well. Getting myself together I grabbed my gloves as I got up. Like something out of a magical scene the open end of the glove was pointed down and something, tiny but sparkly fell out onto the carpet. 

Yes it was my diamond. I cried. Dramatically.

Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Her funny book, “They Call Me Weener” is available on or e-mail her at to get a signed copy.