Yesterday, in Oregon, our home town, for my dad's wife's memorial gathering. Knew her for over thirty years, but not really. She was a good kind person, things were/are complicated, but not.
I went with anxiety, but ended up being surprised at what else was found there. People from the past, from childhood. A few had been beacons of possibilities back then, others were reprieves, some were just the same as I had left them.
And seeing my dad so sad, and alone in it all . . . watching him lean against a wall, in an orange shirt, starting to cry, snot dripping from his nose, wiping it away with shaky hands and a blue bandana kerchief, the same kind that I practiced ironing on, way back when. I took a step across the empty space that was between us and touched his shoulder. Stepping back, after a moment, while someone handed him a can of beer.
Trying to understand how opposite truths can exist at the same time- the now and then, and the then and then. And how to hold all of them, because they are all true stories.
