Life can be a funny thing sometimes. The ironic nature of how some things can happen.
Take, for example, this morning. I have had it on my schedule to write a post about a bracelet my wife gave me two years ago. Today marks two years since she gave it to me, and I put it on. It had been hanging on by a thread for a while, so I was intending on writing a quick little “Story-time with Michael” type post and retire it tonight. I’m a bit sentimental, so I wanted to take it off and put it up rather than risk losing it.
Well, as I posted on the Fatherhood: Reloaded Instagram account this morning, as I was getting dressed for work, the bracelet fell to the floor. That last thread finally giving up.
Seriously, this thing lasted for two solid years. I only ever took this thing off once, and that was to switch it from my right wrist to my left. (I’m left-handed and bounce back and forth on which wrist I want to wear my watch. It’s a whole thing. Story-time for another day perhaps.)
ANYWAY, this bracelet, which my wife got for me as a whim, has been a constant on my wrist for the last 2 years. Containing our first and last initials, she originally got it for me as a silly couple’s gift a few months after we became engaged. She never expected I would wear it as I have, but here we are! I wore my bracelet out; letters barely visible. With hers being but a passing memory to likely be found years down the road.
For those wondering, the bracelet itself came from Wanderer Bracelets. Clearly, I have to give them a shoutout, because the bracelet I’ve been wearing has been through it with me the last two years!
Swimming in pools and the ocean. Hiking, the gym, moving, equipment rollouts at work. The list of things I put this bracelet through is a bit ridiculous. It’s crazy that it lasted two years with the abuse I gave it.
(In writing this, I decided it was only fair to do an official review of the bracelet itself. It’s a quick write-up, but you can view it here if you so desire.)
And not intentionally mind you. I just didn’t want to take it off.
Initially, it was perhaps out of laziness, but eventually, it grew into pride that it never left my wrist.
So, here’s to two years, to the day, for my bracelet. For now, the worn-out, beaten thing will sit on the shelf with some of my son’s casts, in my home office.
It may not be on my wrist any longer, but I won’t cherish it any less.
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