Promised, but not Bound

On their wedding night, your parents broke their rings. They hammered over the anvil at your uncle’s forge, dousing the bands in liquid fire and other extremities, until the rings were no longer circular. Instead of meeting in the middle, they separated, one raising higher and the other sweeping downwards.

It’s our way of saying we are not bound to each other eternally, mija, your mother told you when you were young and bouncing on her lap.

We are tied to each other here and now, but see how the ring rises upwards? When we are gone, I do not wish for your father to be bound to me. A ring symbolises eternity, mija. An inescapable fate. She smiles sadly. But we forged our own future together.

So one day, if your father dies before me, I am allowed to love another. If I die before him, I hope he will do the same. It does not do to try to hold on too tightly to another’s soul.

But you squeezed her hand and she laughed. You’re holding on too tight, mija!

You think of Abuela, her final words as you sat by her bed. Hold on tight, mija.