He looked me in the eyes with a disappointment that I hadn’t seen before and said, “You’re breaking your mother’s heart.”
There was strength in his voice and a glistening dampness in his eyes when he spoke. He didn’t need to say more. Those five words, spoken by my dad in the living room of the home where I was raised, landed on my ears with a force that he couldn’t have imagined. A message that took only seconds deliver has stuck with me, unforgotten, for nearly forty years. His message was clear. He was reminding me that my mom – the love of his life – was the person on this earth that he cherished the most. The woman he had spent a lifetime with. The person that he protected from all forms of pain… even if it required the toughest of conversations with his only son. And he was right. My mom was an angel. His angel.
I was 25 and after three years of marriage had just celebrated becoming a father for the first time. I was so proud. I’d watched my parents raise their five children (especially my little sisters) and love their grandchildren for years. My mom’s home was always open and the love for her family was genuine and immense. There was never a hesitation about being involved and helping as each grandchild was welcomed into the growing family. It was the way it had always been. Until then.
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