by Emilee Wise

Created on: December 29, 2008

Is a ring love? Is it a symbol of love? What would you need as proof of love? For me, the ring was a great a la mode, if you will, but it was not my foundation in my relationship. I believe the ring, that lovely, glorious show of commitment, is just a symbol of your vow to enjoy, love, suffer, endure, conquer, and overcome life with your partner.

If I may, let me tell you my story, as proof that, yes, there can be an engagement without a ring. Though, ladies, we all know it's a big plus.

I was a year out of high school when I met him. We were partying with mutual friends and family, young and with no responsibilities so it seemed. Of course, it started out as all young relationships do; the eye contact, the sly smiles, the brushing of hands. Then comes the talking, going places together, calling one another.

Don't get me wrong, we were not something I thought would last. We partied too hard, drank too much, didn't go to work enough. My mother was furious with me the times I did see or manage to call her. She said I was ruining my life. Maybe I would have had I not snapped out of it. We never knew where we would stay each night; a friends house or a family members. Sometimes an old, beat up camper at the lake.

Then, one day, I find a small trailer house for reasonable rent, not too long after I got a good job with my grandfather. I move in and party pal comes with me. All of a sudden I have bills and I need help so I push him every day to work, work, work. We fuss and fight, but always make up.

Soon I start feeling tired a lot. I don't feel like doing housework and I start slacking at my job, which was as a spray painter on an industrial paint yard, I might add. I get my best friend, who is eight months pregnant, to get a pregnancy test at the local convienient store for me. The results were a shock so we purchased three more. There was no denying; I was pregnant.

He was happy, to say the least. As time went on he became thrilled. I was not working and staying at home by this time and he was stepping up to the plate. He worked as much as he could and we started settling down.

My mother moved in with us and we found a bigger house. Monthes go by and before I know it it's summer and I can't see my feet anymore. The heat and the housework were hard on me and I was sick a lot.

One day, after cleaning the house, I plopped down on our old, off colored hand me down couch, wearing an oversized bleached t-shirt and shorts, my hair knotted, unbrushed, looking like a wild woman

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