So right after dumping the contents of my purse into the wishing well, I realised that I had no coins left for the hospital car park.
Perhaps my husband had stashed some parking and paper money in the campervan like he does in the ute.
Stopped at lights metres from the hospital entrance, I peered into the ashtray and espied something gold.
Still groping blindly in the little drawer, I turned into the hospital drive.
Drawing up to the boom gate I reached to deposit the coin in the slot and found myself holding a diamond ring … the ring I bought for my husband 19 years ago.
The very same one that went missing a year ago and was presumed forever lost.
It had become a bit loose on his finger in cold weather after he dropped some weight.
We kept forgetting to buy a ring guard.
Meantime he was doing the normal work around the place: chopping wood, mowing, getting rid of rubbish.
He only realised it was gone when he came inside that evening.
We scoured the grounds for hours without success.
Accepting it was lost was one thing, replacing it another. Still, he wore his ersatz ring with pride.
Now, arriving at his bedside, I produced the glittering original.
His face lit up.
We figure he must have slipped the ring into the ashtray for safekeeping when he moved the van to power the battery and forgotten doing so.
To think it might have remained there indefinitely without the investment in wishing him well.
My Lord of the Rings.