Kara's Rings
April 2022
I’m still amazed that among the relatively few items I was able to recover after the fire, some of the things that mattered most were strewn amongst them. With her family’s halupki pot and my drawer of Kara’s notes hovering near the top of that list. However, the brass ring of rubble recovery may have been a set of actual rings.
Kara wore several rings that were an integral part of her persona and daily uniform. An eclectic goth mix of finger adornments that click-clacked when she gesticulated. She loved them. Her kids (clients) loved them. I was indifferent. But they were some of the very few worldly possessions that she coveted. We once turned around half an hour into a road trip because she had left one of them at home, and we weren’t going any further until she had it. When she passed, those rings immediately went to the top of my list of things to try and locate.
Part of Kara’s nighttime ritual was to remove the rings and place them on the bathroom sink. I found them, all of them, in what had been the bathroom. They were, however, completely charred. It didn’t matter so much to me the condition. What mattered was what they meant to her, and so now, they mean the world to me. And I had them.
After a few weeks, I decided to take them to a jeweler called Harry Ritchie's, close to my mother’s place to see what, if anything, could be done. To call the staff wonderful would be an understatement. It was difficult to detail what happened, but I did, and the humanity and caring they showed and expressed were remarkable and could not have been more appreciated.
I understand that emotional intelligence and empathy are more individual traits than a true reflection of corporate culture. But everything they did after that initial interaction speaks more to how they handle their business. This is not intended to be a commercial, and I’m guessing my circumstances aren’t regularly encountered. As such, I would hate to set an unattainably high bar for other potential customers walking through the door, but if ever a shoutout were in order, this would be the case.
I was told they would do their best, but reasonable expectations were set concerning what could realistically be done. I told them I would be thankful for anything. A week later, I got the first set of rings along with her bracelet, and damn it if they didn’t look brand new.
What was also new was me crying over rings, but right now, every day brings new and exciting reasons for me to release the waterworks. Yesterday, I picked up the two additional rings that required “antiquing.” In the cleaning process, some of the details had been removed and needed to be re-added to bring them back to their original condition.
I’m not sure what I thought they were going to be able to do, but I can assure you that what they did exceeded what I could have ever hoped for. Then came the capper. When I asked what the cost for everything was, the total owed was a sum that rhymed with “tree.” As in, there was no charge for any of it. Not labor, not materials, not nothing. This relegated me to crying over rings again, but at least that’s nothing new anymore.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go write the greatest 5-star Google review the world has ever seen.
Yes, exactly. I wonder if you've also had the experience of being able to look at some things in the few days and weeks after Kara's death, but then reached a point where you'd put them aside and did not view them again for many months, if at all. I have that issue now with some of Denise's letters and journals. They were my lifeline to her early on, but then something happened and I simply could not look at them at all without being profoundly disturbed by them. It probably ties in with trauma, somehow, though I'm not sure how, or why. I do have the feeling I'll be able to view them again, however, when the time is right.
I am glad to see that you had the strength to even look at the rings, given their significance to both you and Kara, let alone take them in and have them restored. There is obviously a deep and swiftly moving river of grief in your soul, and you're on the swaying rope bridge just above it. I get it, my friend. There are certain things of Denise's I've put away and haven't touched in over two years, basically because they're just too painful for me to look at. I suppose I'll get to them in time.