Late 1997

Michael and I suddenly find ourselves with two months to throw a respectable wedding together. Not a shotgun wedding, just a rush due to business needs & living situation circumstances. I’m working at the store one day and the mother of my sister’s boyfriend whirls in. I’ll have to introduce you here to Judy Nichols, choir and chorale director at our local high school, piano player at our church, general musical angel at large. She always has a kind word for everyone around her, a quick laugh, and a beaming smile on her face. I mention to her that I would be honored to have her play at my wedding, and s ...

Never get involved. That’s our mantra in the jewelry store. We may see a couple destined for divorce court before they are even married, but we smile and tolerate their bickering and sell them a wedding set.

Who are we to predict their demise? They could fight happily for the next forty years, for all we care. We’re just here to sell the rings, and the necklace for the anniversary, and the diamond earrings when he has to concede the argument…

We may see an older woman gleefully spending her retirement money on tourmaline jewelry, but she is happily in her dotage and could never need another penny of that money, what do we care? So she’ll have a little bit less to pass on to those gre ...

A couple stands across the case before me. Simple, hardworking, salt of the earth people. The woman has just had her ring painstakingly repaired by us- worn prongs rebuilt, a missing side diamond replaced, the surface refinished. She gazes it at it in wonder,

“I’ve never seen it so bright!” She exclaims, “It must have been extra dirty. It’s as beautiful as the day we were first married!”

“So are you.” Her husband says softly behind her, barely audible.

-Cue heart melt here-

The woman blushes a bit, glances at his own matching band, and grimaces.

“Oh, honey look at yours. It’s so dirty compared to mine no ...

The woman standing in front of me is regal and beautiful, even at middle age. After 28 years of marriage, her husband is leaving her. She mentions it quietly, ashamed of her newly single status. Her rings sit in front of me, resting top-down on the black velvet pad that I’ve just pulled out. The symbolism is staggering to me- funereal and final. I am about to melt the rings down, reforming the gold into a shape that is not a wedding band. There are a few small diamonds in the engagement ring, diamonds that carried her down a white-decked aisle so very many years ago. She has never asked for more than the simple sparkling stones on her hand, and never received any more. To these diamonds, I will add the birthstones of ...