A Wife's Wrist Band...

I realized today I still had my wrist band on. The paper kind with the sticky end you get at concerts. Only the black skeleton silhouettes dancing across this one was evidence of the corn maze I had been to with the ward's young women a few nights before. As I went about needing to find scissors to cut it off a reminder of another wrist band came flooding back without warning.

Another wrist band. Same style, only hot pink. Without Halloween clip art. Simply, my husband's name, DOB, and hospital room number jazzed it up. When I returned back to Primary Children's Hospital after Jared had been admitted, I had to get a security band so I could just walk back to his room without checking in each time. As I talked at the security desk, I had to explain I was the patient's wife, not mother. Especially with the silly faces he was making all the while. 

"In 25+ years, I've never given one of these to a patient's wife," he said. And I would suppose not. It was a children's hospital after all. That was evident by the coloring book, crayons, and animal themed menu in my husband's room. In fact, there wasn't even an option for "wife" at the security check-in. I joked then that I sometimes felt more like a mother, since Jared was always a kid at heart. Despite not having wife as an option, hot pinkness still came to symbolize my "wife's" band. When I pulled into the parking lot after going back and forth between the hospital and my parents that first day, the guard asked who I was there for. I held up my wrist, flashing my pink band, and he waved me on. "Ah, you have a kiddo in there," he said and smiled. I smiled back. Yes, I had a big kiddo in there.

Even after we soon transferred hospitals and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. I liked seeing my husband's name around my wrist. It signified I was there for him.

After Jared's passing and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. I liked seeing my husband's name around my wrist. It signified we were still connected.

And even after we laid my husband to rest, all through the viewing and the funeral and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. It signified that I was still his wife.

I debated taking it off when I went to the temple the morning of Jared's viewing, but I just couldn't. The neon peaked out from under the sleeve of my dress; the same dress I wore when we were married. In fact, I wore that hot pink wrist band through that month, and the next, and then a little longer. To me cutting it off signified he wasn't there, and I couldn't bear the thought despite it running through my mind over and over. I wore it in the shower, to sleep, watching it get folded over and somewhat tattered. Then I noticed Jared's name began to slowly but surely fade. Eventually worries I would wear it out to the point of not being able to see my husband's name there, I took a pair of scissors and somewhat ceremoniously snipped my wrist free of the hot pink. I've put it in a safe place, along with other momentos of my husband. Forever reminding me that I was there for him, we are connected, that I am his wife. 

As I stare at the red and black band on my hand now, I can envision see the hot pink "wife band" that signified I was at the hospital for Jared, and tears well up. I would proudly wear anything that shows I am his wife.