say yes

This weekend the weather was fantastic, but the golden light that colored everything and everyone wasn't just about the perfection that is October sunshine. Last Thursday I went to the annual fundraiser for the nonprofit I work with, Seeds 4 Success. Some of you may remember when I wrote about meeting the executive director last November, how we shared so many connections and then later discovered that our parents had been friends in Dallas when we were babies and toddlers, so many years ago.

My family left Dallas when my dad got a job as the associate minister at the Unitarian Universalist church in Providence, RI, which put an end to backyard hang-outs with the Snells. Thirty-two years later, I was heading towards a table full of enticing appetizers at a fundraiser when a man with gray hair and a warm, open face reached out and touched my arm. 

"Meagan?" 

I was feeling inclined to love everyone at this event - all supporters, staff, and volunteers at one of the coolest nonprofits ever - so I figured he must be a friend, albeit one I didn't recognize. Then he told me that before the party, he couldn't quite remember my mother's face, but the minute he saw me he knew just who I was, because I looked so much like her.

And then I knew exactly who he was. My dad's old friend. Jess's dad. Bill. 

Oh! It was a gift, it was extraordinary, to hear him and his wife Laura tell stories about spending time with my parents when they were nearly ten years younger than I am now. How often do we hear first hand about our families before we were old enough to remember? My mom, at home with a toddler, apparently developed a penchant for hot dogs. She told ghost stories. My grandfather invited them to a party at his house and the guests included all three of his wives (two exes and current) who apparently all got along amicably. Bill and Laura were astounded. Who wouldn't be?

It was already as if God had given me an unasked for, unanticipated gift when I met Jess and learned about our family connection. The gift grew and grew on Thursday night, and it gave me a shivery, charged feeling. At a certain point  I realized my mom was coming into town on Friday, and I asked what plans Bill and Laura had for the weekend. 

Not much, they said - just their granddaughter's soccer game on Saturday morning. Which was exactly what my mom had planned on Saturday morning - her grandson's soccer game. Addison and Gabriel's games turned out to be at the same time, on adjacent fields, and my goodness, we were all able to stand around together in the chilly sunshine and talk! The amazing thing is that we did nothing to put this all in motion. We only had to say yes, to agree, to accept the gifts we were being given.

It's strange to think that if Jess and I hadn't connected, all those grandparents would be cheering along the sidelines in another town, another time, thirty years after starting a friendship with babies on their hips, and not recognize one another. But maybe not - after all, Bill recognized me, a perfect stranger. They'd probably have figured it out.

Later during the weekend, when all had settled into more regular routines, I was thinking about our meeting on the soccer field and was visited by a vision of my dad there with us. Loose-limbed, goofy, laughing at the sweet absurdity of four year olds chasing a ball straight off the field, cheering a little too loud for Gabriel, poking ridiculous fun at Frances when she complained of boredom, giving big bear hugs to Bill and Laura. It hurts sometimes when my mind goes there involuntarily - imagining what life would be like today with him in it. It's not hard at all, which is a kind of comfort, because I still know him so well. And thanks to meeting Jess's parents over the weekend, now I know him just a tiny bit better.

Oh dear. Telling you about that has me crying. A bit of lighter news: Frances made pancakes all by herself. She was so very proud! And both kids ran around in bare feet in the warm weather on Sunday, looking sweet and summery while I did yoga on the back deck and stared up in triangle pose at the green boughs moving gracefully in the wind above, and just like Amos the mouse, I felt thoroughly akin to it all.