Yesterday, my heart sank in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time—I realized the diamond from my wedding ring was gone.
It was, without a doubt, one of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced.
This wasn’t just any ring. My wedding ring symbolizes my union and lifelong commitment to Ryan, yes—but it also belonged to my Grandma. It carried so much sentimental weight for me. I was incredibly close to my Grandma, and I always dreamed of the day the man I loved would place her wedding ring on my finger, linking her legacy and our love together.
The morning I lost it started like any other busy day. We were headed to Laguna to spend the day with Ryan’s family. I had the triplets to get ready, packed towels, sand toys, and snacks, and before we knew it, we were out the door. On the way, we stopped at a restaurant to pick up sandwiches. Ryan was going to run in, but I insisted I would—mainly because I needed to use the restroom.
I ran in, ran out, and we were back on the road.
Minutes into the drive, I felt it—my diamond was missing. Completely gone. Panic gripped me instantly. My heart raced, my hands grew clammy, and before long, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I knew I had the ring when we left the house, so it had to be either in the car or at the restaurant.
We searched the car thoroughly—no ring. We scoured the parking lot—still nothing. I even ran back into the restaurant, checking everywhere, including the bathroom trash, hoping against hope that somehow it had fallen there. I left my contact info with the staff, praying someone might find it. My heart ached. I felt an emptiness I can’t quite describe.
Then, in the middle of my tears, my son Jax spoke up. “But Mommy, I made the special ring for you. Come put it on!”
It was a simple green hairband he had fashioned into a ring, and yet it was profoundly special. His small act of love reminded me that while diamonds can be lost, the love of my family—and the empathy of my children—cannot. In that moment, my sadness was softened by his thoughtfulness, and I felt such a deep sense of gratitude and connection.
We went on with our day at the beach, though I was convinced the diamond was gone forever. Later, after the kids went to bed, my mom came over to help me search the car again. I wasn’t hopeful. Honestly, I thought we were out of luck. But we prayed, “Lord, if it’s here, please help us find it.”
And then, tucked between goldfish crumbs and animal crackers, Ryan spotted it. At first, he thought it was one of the kids’ play gems. But it was the diamond! Hallelujah! I was stunned. I didn’t think we’d ever see it again.
That day, when I truly believed the ring was gone for good, I realized something important: as special as this ring is, its value doesn’t change the love my Grandma had for me—or my love for her. It is, after all, just an object, though a very meaningful one. Choosing to focus on her love, rather than the loss, gave me peace in the midst of heartbreak.
But God has a way of surprising us. That diamond, that precious family heirloom, found its way back to me. It’s now safely stored, awaiting repair. And I know, without a doubt, that my Grandma is looking down from Heaven, rejoicing with me—and perhaps even helping guide the diamond back into my hands.
This experience gave me a renewed appreciation for the ring and the family legacy it carries. More than a diamond, it’s a reminder of love, resilience, and the little miracles that surround us every day.
