My mom re-married when I was still a child who carried around the blanket and stuffed animals that my father, my mom’s first husband, had given me before his sudden death. Neither do I have memories of his death, nor do I have memories of him. It happened when I was only two years old. If his death was inevitable, I believe God gave me a gift. I’m not certain how those memories would have affected my life, if I’d be able to cope. But I know it caused my mom a great deal of pain. I hadn’t fully realized what she went through until her death, as I was writing her eulogy.

For years my mom passed up the opportunity of meeting my father, my mom’s second husband. Only separated by a chain linked fence, our backyard next door neighbor tried to be a matchmaker for them. My mom and my future Aunt would talk by the fence occasionally, and my Aunt would call as well. I don’t know what had finally changed my mom’s mind, she never told me and I never thought to ask. But she agreed to meet him, eventually. I must have been nine or ten years old.

My father mentioned that he brought my mom to a local Chinese restaurant on their first date, after someone had asked at my mom’s funeral reception. I don’t know how many dates it took before their relationship became serious. Nor can I recall who looked after me when they went on those dates. It’s safe to assume my mom left me at our family friend’s house. But I remember the first time I met him. It happened late at night, between 11:30 and 12. I was watching the Arsenio Hall Show laying on the hardwood floor, covered with my blanket. He walked into the room just enough for me to see him, and said hello. I turned my head left to look at him, but said nothing. I didn’t know what to say. I remember feeling bad for my father, my mom’s first husband.

Between the day I first met my father, my mom’s second husband, and when we had moved into our new house, apart from a few memories, I don’t recollect much. My parents had decided to sell their homes to purchase a new home. They had sold my mom’s house first for a very fair price to a single black mother with a daughter. My father had mentioned how happy her daughter was at closing, and that she went into the yard and screamed in joy. Sometime before that house was sold, we moved into my father’s townhouse until our new house was ready. I had to sleep on the pleated brown fabric sofa bed in the living room since he didn’t have enough space to give me my own room. That was home for probably about a year, until our new home was ready. My father never thought he’d be able to afford such a house, ever. I believe my mom had the same belief. They rented his townhouse to their bowling league friend, which she eventually bought.

Within the next year, my parents told me about their intention to marry. I had some suspicions that it was being planned as I overheard a couple conversations and noticed my father taking several involved phone calls, but didn’t know the details. Then on the front-side of a two-week long trip to Hawaii maybe about six months later, they got married. I was the best man, and my cousin was the bridesmaid. The wedding was set on a high cliff overlooking the coastline. And at the conclusion of the ceremony, whales surfaced and sprayed water and a rainbow appeared in the near distance. It was beautiful, perfect. I don’t know what my mom thought about as she was dying, but I hope she remembered that day. I hope she found peace.


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