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On July 4th, 2007, I lost my wedding ring.

David and I spent the day with two of our favorite people: my cousin, Joseph, and his wife, Heather. We brought steaks over to a friend's house and sat around chatting and drinking blackberry Izze's. It was a grand time and since it was so terribly hot, we all jumped in the pool and played a game of volleyball. After 30 minutes or so, I set the ball to Joseph and caught a glimpse of my left hand. No ring.

I thought I might die. I tried not to make a huge scene but inside I was on the fritz. I said multiple prayers as we took turns with the goggles, looking in the drain at the bottom of the pool. Me and my slippery wet fingers had ruined the pool party while everyone and their dog, Buster, looked for the ring. (We even considered looking inside Buster for fear he had eaten it.)

Was it inside the drain suctioned into the black pipe? No.
Was it near the iPod where I had changed the music from Maritime to Maroon 5? No.
Was it anywhere on the bottom of that white plastered pool? No.
Was it in my swimsuit, hair, shorts, shoes, purse or bowl? No.
Was it on the other side of the yard resting in the dirt near the water fountain? YES! Oh, yes! It was!

Heather's best friend (and now mine), Kelly, caught a glimpse of something shiny in the most unlikely spot. As she explained, "I found it!" my heart started beating normally again and the tears that were starting to get hot stopped their near-flow. That night, I said, ". . . and thank You that Kelly found my wedding ring."