Thirteen Diamonds: A Story of Love and Letting Go

 

When Bijoux Bios asked Kanika Tomalin, the Deputy Mayor of St. Petersburg, if she had an interesting jewelry story to tell, she immediately thought of her AKA sorority pin. Alpha Kappa Alpha, founded in 1908 at Howard University as the first intercollegiate historically African-American sorority, had been, after all, in the news lately thanks to fellow sorority sister and now U.S. Vice-President Kamala Harris. Harris joined the Alpha Chapter when she was a student at Howard University in the 1980s in Washington, D.C. Tomalin was an AKA debutante in 1993 when she was a journalism student at FAMU (Florida Agricultural & Mechanical University), another historically black university. Looking in the box where she kept her AKA pin, however, Tomalin found the engagement ring that she had placed there nearly five years ago. The ring was the most significant piece of jewelry that she had ever owned. It is the story of that ring — and the love that it represents— that she chose to tell us when we reached her last month by Zoom.

    Terry and I first met at the St. Petersburg Times (now the Tampa Bay Times). The moment I saw him, I recognized him. I had never experienced anything like it before nor have I since, but it was very real. At the time, I was a college intern and he was the newspaper’s outdoors editor, very established there, and he was walking by in the newsroom. I looked up and our eyes met and I recognized him from…who knows how many lives ago…

     I immediately called my roommate and said, “Oh my gosh, Joy, I just saw my husband!” And she said, “Who?  Who is he?” And I said, “I don’t know. I’m going to go find out right now.”

     So I walked back to the sports department, but he wasn’t there. I looked through a stack of newspapers that they kept there and finally there he was: his signature, his photo, and his name. Back then, instant messenger or Facebook or any type of thing like that that connects us, even texts, didn’t exist, but the newsroom had a system, the Coyote system, where you could send messages throughout the newsroom. I had his name and so I sent him a message. He wouldn’t have recognized my name, but the message I sent to him was “You are my husband.”  He answered: “Who is this?” 

     I wrote back:“You have to come see, walk through the newsroom.” 

     And he did. He was at one end of the newsroom and I was at the entire other end and he walked the length of the newsroom, looking and looking right past me because he must have thought, surely it’s not that 20-year-old black woman who messaged me. Then I waved. He crossed his hand under his chin and shook his head no. I didn’t see him once for the rest of the summer. I thought I may never see him again. I’d go on with my life. That was the summer before my senior year of college. I was 21.

      So fast forward, and I’m working as a reporter at a television station in Louisville. I do not like it at all. One day my friend Cynda Mort, who was working in marketing for the Times, says to me, “The woman who handles our internal communications is going on an extended maternity leave and I am trying to figure out what I’m going to do about that. If you would like to do that, please know I have a job for you.” 

     And I was like, I’m outta here.

     So, I go to the Times, and I’m working in marketing. I’m there for probably a month, and one day coming back from lunch, Terry Tomalin and I are in the elevator together. He looks and says, “What are you doing here?”  I say, “I work here now!”  We get off the elevator. Nothing happens. 

     Then maybe a week or so later, I see him again and he says, “You want to have coffee?” And that was it. We were inseparable from that point on.

     The proposal was made in true Terry Tomalin fashion. Terry asked a jeweler, a guy named Jeff Abel who he would fly fish with, to design the ring. He planned to give it to me at this big, extravagant dinner with my parents. But he was so excited and couldn’t wait, so he came to my desk at work -- but I was in a meeting -- so he left the ring there with a note that said, “Call me.” When I came back, saw the ring and called him, he said, “Did you see it? Do you like it? Do you want to get married?” 

      It was so surreal. Our initial connection had been so metaphysical for me. I’d never really experienced anything like that before. I was young. He was 15 years older, white, very established. Because of those vast differences, even as our relationship grew, it still felt very surreal. But with that proposal and the engagement ring, I went from being someone who was observing my life like it was somebody else’s story that I just happened to be in to understanding that this was my story, this was real, this man was to be my husband. In many ways our relationship as peers truly crystallized with this ring. 

     Fast forward 17 years, after two beautiful children, a whole awesome life together, I lost him. Suddenly to a heart attack. It was very unexpected. May 19, 2016. I took the ring off on May 20^th and have never worn it again. 

     I hadn’t looked at the ring until I went to go get my AKA pin.

    Just like receiving the engagement ring had crystallized for me that this is my story, this is my life, this is real, taking it off let me know that the way that I know Terry is different now. He’s gone and this is real.  I knew that without that kind of tangible acknowledgement, it would never be real. 

     On my right hand, I do wear two other bands that Terry gave me to add to the engagement ring: my wedding band, which has five diamonds, and a ring that he gave me when our first son was born, also with
five diamonds. With the three diamonds on the engagement ring, that makes 13 diamonds. Terry knew that 13 is my lucky number so he was very intentional when he chose this jewelry. For me, the rings represent my children and the beautiful bond that was. We were so connected and still are, tethered at the soul. I could move deliriously through the world, stuck, if I didn’t constantly coach myself that my life is different now.

Photo above: Kanika Tomalin on Zoom shows off two rings she always wears on her right hand: her wedding band and the ring her husband gave her when their first child was born: “They represent my children and the beautiful bond that was."       

     I think of what the Buddha — Siddhartha Gotama — said about love and separation  — I hope I’m remembering this right —  and it guides me:  “All that I know, all that is mine and beloved, will someday be otherwise and separate from me.” It is a constant reminder of impermanence.  While Terry is still with me, he is not here. I had to find a way to move forward while honoring him, to not be stuck in what was. Taking the engagement ring off helped me do that. 

~Kanika Tomalin interviewed January 26 via Zoom in her St. Petersburg office by Bijoux Bios’ Jaye Ann Terry in Tallahassee

Dr. Kanika Tomalin is the first African-American, female Deputy Mayor and City Administrator of St. Petersburg, a city her family has called home for more than five generations. Her signature initiative, Healthy St. Pete, launched in 2014, has created access to healthy food options, implemented free fitness zones in city parks and added resources for individuals and families to make healthy living easier. She was married for 17 years to Terry Tomalin, the outdoors editor at the St. Petersburg until his death in 2016. The couple had two children, Kai and Nia. Before joining the Kriseman administration, she served as the regional vice-president of External Affairs for the Bayfront Health Network and director of Strategy for Health Management Associates’ 23-hospital Florida Group. She also worked as a marketer and journalist for the St. Petersburg Times (now Tampa Bay Times). She has a B.S. in broadcast journalism from Florida Agricultural & Mechanical University, an MBA from the University of Miami and a Doctorate in law and policy from Northeastern University.

Photo above: Kanika Tomalin on Zoom shows the three rings given to her by her husband that she once wore together on her left hand.