Well, I'm back.
For those unaware, I was attending my Dad's wedding this past weekend--an obvious challenging balance for me.
But I will spare you my spiritual journey from tantrum to acceptance to say this: I believe God speaks to us through the mouths of people we least expect.
My Dad's bride's mother is a lovely woman from Malta--she has a thick accent and looks like she'd sit you down at her table and feed homemade sauces from vegetables she grew in her garden until your stomach felt full of love, then she'd fix you warm milk and put you down for a nap under an afghan she'd knitted that morning. She's kind, but more complex than her appearance suggests; but knows exactly what is going on.
The morning of the ceremony, she said, "This must be a bittersweet day for you." I nodded, taken aback at her honesty and candor. (I thought I was hiding it well.) She replied, "Know that your Dad is very much loved in this family. He will be taken care of always."
At that moment, I knew he would be. I knew she spoke a truth I had been too afraid to voice or face.
The knowledge of this filled me like that glass of warm milk.
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