They, are my fathers. When I was sixteen, one gave me a set of pearls to mark my coming of age. Now at twenty-four, the other has given me a diamond pendant cross on a fine chain, to mark our reunion after a life's absence. One begs me to remember and another asks me to forgive. Each pearl on a strand could be a memory: a Tuesday night Scrabble match, an evening driving lesson at that empty parking lot in the Sunset district, a bedtime story from
Listening to the Great Teacher, an afternoon out on the old pier in Pacifica, a Sunday at the Hall, a Saturday in service, a dinner at Aunt Willy's. The pearls go on, eternally, like the memories I will always have of my father, Johnny Jefferson.
I've mentioned this cross before. It is my first diamond jewelry. It is the loved relic of a faith I never knew how to practice and of the family I am still learning how to know. The father whose name I carry, gave this piece to me. Its diamonds shine hard like the yearning to understand that never dissipated. Timeless, they say, I imagine one day, after my ashes have been spread, it will adorn the neck of a niece or daughter whose beliefs are different than mine. Will she know what it meant to me and what it represents? Will she know that in quiet moments of solitude I pried open the box my father gave me to peer upon its untarnished gold? Will she better be able to where it?
I remember them both during this odd time in my life, when the one that helped make me who I am through thousands of small cherished moments faces another year of cancer, and when the other can't understand why I turned away from him after receiving this cross and the family I've always wanted to know. These are sometimes the jewels of a woman's life, and in a gesture of trust and good will, I've shared them with you here. And still so early in my life, I can only wonder what jewels lie ahead.
They, are my fathers. When I was sixteen, one gave me a set of pearls to mark my coming of age. Now at twenty-four, the other has given me a diamond pendant cross on a fine chain, to mark our reunion after a life's absence. One begs me to remember and another asks me to forgive. Each pearl on a strand could be a memory: a Tuesday night Scrabble match, an evening driving lesson at that empty parking lot in the Sunset district, a bedtime story from Listening to the Great Teacher, an afternoon out on the old pier in Pacifica, a Sunday at the Hall, a Saturday in service, a dinner at Aunt Willy's. The pearls go on, eternally, like the memories I will always have of my father, Johnny Jefferson.
I remember them both during this odd time in my life, when the one that helped make me who I am through thousands of small cherished moments faces another year of cancer, and when the other can't understand why I turned away from him after receiving this cross and the family I've always wanted to know. These are sometimes the jewels of a woman's life, and in a gesture of trust and good will, I've shared them with you here. And still so early in my life, I can only wonder what jewels lie ahead.