Outside My Office Window

OUTSIDE MY OFFICE WINDOW By: Robbie Pryor

Pryor, Priest & Harber

THE RING

I walked into Diftler’s Jewelers in downtown Knoxville on a cold December day in 1991. Nathan Diflter had sold my father a great many pieces of jewelry over the years. “Mr. Diftler” was so kind to me, patient, and proud of the love and joy he spread around our town. Cheryl and I were graduating from college, and I’d been into his shop previously with her so she could show me the “type” of ring she liked. You know, in the event I decided to marry her one day. She liked things done her way. On this occasion, I was by myself and on a mission. I didn’t have any money, or at least not much of it. I was about to go to law school. I wasn’t going without her. She had been very specific when it came to a ring. She wanted a small diamond with something called baguettes on both sides of the diamond. She was willing to skimp on the size of the main stone for additional diamonds that bookended them. She didn’t want gaudy or flashy, or even expensive. Instead, she gravitated toward classy and understated, which was the perfect description of the woman. She was and would always be specific on the way things had to be - the temperature in the car, the blinds in our house, the “schedule” of grandparents visiting on Christmas day, and the way we had to put Shelby into the specific Graco car seat she required. It wasn’t control so much as meticulous organization. A plan. Can’t leave anything to chance. I put a downpayment on the ring and its companion wedding band (they had to be a matched set), signed an agreement for installments, and walked out onto a leaf-covered sidewalk in the midst of the day with the ring in my coat pocket, my breath rising like smoke into the air. I was so proud.

It was a Christmas engagement and a July wedding - just as she wanted. It was perfect, as was the life to follow - Law degree, house purchase, birth of Shelby and Andy, two cars, picket fence, etc. We were on track and playing by the play book. Right up until October of 2000. In the emergency department of the hospital, Melissa, her best friend, implored me to take the engagement ring from her hand. “You have to save it for Shelby.” It seemed so ridiculous to even consider. All of it. My initial instinct was no - it was Cheryl’s prize. She did not covet material things in her life. She coveted the ring. Against my instinct and at the instruction of people who love me, my last act in her presence was to take her prized possession from her hand for the benefit of her first child, who at the time was only 4 years old. What was a 4-year-old going to do with a ring? It felt disrespectful, an act so final when the last vestiges of false hope lingered with the smell of her shampoo and the warmth of her hand. I walked out onto the sidewalk with the ring, once again, in my pocket. The ring has rested in a jewelry case for nearly 22 years. It is where I keep a watch, and my own wedding band, the one she slipped on my hand that long-gone July day. There is also a bracelet, a regretful purchase from my junior year in high school. For some reason, I can’t let that one go. I’ll save that for another article. Stuart asked if he could take me to breakfast. He was visiting with Shelby from Washington for the Georgia game and had heard so much about Pete’s. We took our seats as Stormy and Tecia milled around behind the counter cutting sideways glances. Joey and Pete looked between the shelves in the kitchen. Along with my usual, blueberry pancakes, I had suspicion of what was about to happen, yet was still unprepared. It was a moment. Our family has loved Stuart since Shelby met him, but one thing we particularly love about him is his sense of history - Shelby’s history. He knew about the ring and humbly asked what I thought about him presenting Cheryl’s prized possession to her little girl when he asked her to marry him. I insisted. Permission was given. We shook hands and hugged, sealing our secret.

When they left to return to Washington two days later, I walked out onto the sidewalk with the ring in my pocket one last time. I was so excited for my little girl. I slipped it to Stuart with a note. I was proud. More than that, I was happy.

On the weekend before Christmas, at the top of a snow-covered mountain range in Central Washington, near the camp where they met, a good young man placed Cheryl’s beloved ring on her daughter’s finger, completing the circle. A rainbow appeared and quickly slipped away as she said yes.

There will be a July wedding. I stand in awe as Shelby plans with such exacting detail. You cannot imagine what we inherit. I’ll walk her down the aisle just as we talked about at tea parties with stuffed animals at the peak of our innocence. To a father, his little girl is always 4 years old, dancing in the living room. With darkness comes the promise of light. May the Circle be unbroken. May you find the light in whatever darkness you encounter.