When Lou asked me to marry him, he gave me an enormous engagement ring.

It was so sparkly it nearly blinded me when I opened up the little black velvet box. An expensive or fancy ring wasn’t really necessary to get me to marry him. I knew I was in love for life; all I wanted was Lou.

But Lou enjoys doing things in a big way. He knows fashion, and he’s always had direct connections to the right people in that world. But unfortunately back then, some of his fancy efforts were a bit lost on me. (Eventually I caught on, though!)

A couple of days after Lou proposed, I went for a walk with my friend Traci. She was so excited about my engagement, and Traci is honestly one of the most adorably supportive people I know. When good things happen to other people, Traci celebrates as if it’s happening to her, too! 

So when I showed her my ring, I figured she’d like it. But I didn’t expect her to be that excited. When she inspected my hand, she couldn’t believe how nice the ring was. She gushed and gushed — and her reaction was making me feel so special. I remember trying my best to match her reaction, so I added a detail that Lou told me about the ring.  

I said, “Lou said the ring was designed by a guy named… Henry Weinstein…? I think?”

Traci took a moment to think. Then she got this surprised look on her face and said, “Do you mean Harry Winston?” 

Yes! That was the name. Harry Winston! Not Henry Weinstein. Silly me…

Traci nearly fainted over this news — she’d never seen a Harry Winston up close before! (And apparently, neither had I.) I tried to act like I understood her excitement, but at the time, I didn’t. 

So when I got home, I looked at the velvet box to confirm the name. Yep. It was Harry Winston. Then, after doing a little research, I discovered that Harry Winston is one of the most famous jewelers in the world. He is the kind of jeweler that celebrities mention on the Red Carpet, and he’s known for the perfection and clarity of his diamonds. 

Much later I found out that my particular engagement ring is from one of Harry Winston’s exclusive designer collections. (Who knew?)

Back when my life was very fancy, my engagement ring was a showstopper that often made me feel pretty special. My ring impressed a lot of people in my world, and it was always a big deal that Lou was able to get me a ring from that collection. 

But after we lost all of our money, wearing my huge diamond ring made me feel like a fraud and a bad person. I happily sold off all of the stunning pieces in my amazing jewelry collection, and all of my designer watches after the trust got wiped out, but Lou always said he never wanted to sell my engagement ring. It was sentimentally important to him, and the heart-value of the ring mattered more to him than the cost. It represented how Lou felt about me, and our marriage.

What that ring represented to him was irreplaceable, and he wanted me to keep it forever. 

But as I was sitting in the dingy, very messy office of the suit lady, I was doing my best to twist my ring so that the diamonds were hidden from sight. I was an indigent now, and so I felt like I needed to look like one. But the truth of who I really am kept cutting into my awareness just like the large diamonds on my ring were digging into the palm of my balled up fist.

There are so many conflicting realities about my old life, my current life, and the hopes I clung to that made me believe we would get ourselves out of this financial mess in the near future. But at that moment, I couldn’t believe we were in a situation where we couldn’t pay people what we owed, and that feeling felt even more damning when it came to paying the people who were trying to help my husband get well. This situation was so humiliating…

And, so confusing.

But the kind of humility I was experiencing that day seemed to strip off a painful layer of dignity and integrity that was still hovering close to my heart. I simply couldn’t sort out how to be OK with the idea that Lou and I were going to be “a burden on the system.” 

For me, it might be the very first time I’ve ever had real empathy for people who have no money. The panhandler on the sidewalk; the lady holding up a sad sign made out of cardboard, asking for money off of a freeway exit… 

I always looked at people like that as if they were too lazy to try to find work. I thought they were putting their problems onto the rest of society to solve, and I hardly ever made eye contact with them. But suddenly, I fully understood that these people have a story, too. I can’t imagine that anyone aspires to be an “indigent” or a panhandler or a roadside beggar when they’re a kid.

I’m sure no one wants to be down so low that their hope and dignity starts to ebb away. 

But things happen, and problems compound over time, and everything starts to get so big you simply don’t know how you’ll ever shoulder the load on your own. So at that moment, I could suddenly feel how this downward spiral could eventually break your spirit…

And, I was scared.

As the suit lady busily keyed-in all of the answers on my intake form into her computer, I just sat there feeling overwhelmed and ashamed. I felt sad for being so judgmental of others for most of my life.

I wanted to tell the suit lady our story — so she’d know I never meant to be asking this hospital for help without having the means to pay for it. I wanted her to know our story so maybe she would believe me when I promised her that we would find a way to pay her back — even though I had nothing but my beliefs and hopes to back up a promise like that. But mostly, I felt deeply confused and humbled by the fact that this hospital was finding a way to help Lou even though they knew that we had no insurance, and no evidence of income.

I wanted to make things right so badly as I tightened my fist around my Harry Winston diamonds. 

Then, in a surreal flash, I pictured myself pulling off my ring, and then using the scotch tape sitting on the edge of the suit lady’s desk to tape the ring to the intake packet as a form of payment. I just wanted to be square with everyone, and that ring just might do the trick.

But then I thought about Lou.

Even though I didn’t feel like I deserved to wear a fancy ring anymore, I knew my husband and I deserved each other’s love, belief, and support. Our marriage was the only thing I still had that no one could take away from me…and I needed Lou to get well.

Without saying a word, the suit lady handed me a box of tissues. I didn’t realize I had started crying. She looked at me with a weary smile and said, “Don’t feel bad. This happens to people all the time. We’re still going to take great care of your husband. I promise.”

And with that assurance, I closed my eyes and thanked God that his angels sometimes show up wearing polyester suits, and they spend their days in messy offices doing thankless jobs with lots and lots of paperwork.