Remembering My Father – Prose

At the time, I’d been married almost 30 years.  Because it was proper; because I felt safer against myself; because I was saving money for an apartment, I’d moved in with my parents during my divorce process.

My parents, as I had for almost all my life, lived in the French Quarter.  At the time, I was a secretary for a law firm about two blocks from the French Quarter.  I’d sort of lived my life in this tiny French Quarter thimble.  About 5 by 14 blocks or so.  It was difficult – if not impossible – to find men to date.

Shortly after my divorce, I met a man on the internet. A pilot for a major airline.  He seemed so cool.  Smart.  Intellectual.  Liked the arts.  Now and then, his schedule took him to New Orleans.  We’d have a lovely week-end.  Or he’d use some special flight pass and I’d fly to meet him somewhere.  And we were going to marry and live forever together.

And then he told me he was married.  And I was sobbing in my parents’ courtyard.  And I was so pissed at myself.  And my father came out.  And I told him all the sordid details that had led to my sobbing.  And he said:

“You are a beautiful woman.  One day you will meet a man worthy of you.  I hope you won’t stay in this relationship.  It isn’t going anywhere.”

I found a huge amount of comfort and hope in those words.  That I was beautiful.  That he knew I hadn’t given up on love.  That there was someone else waiting – like me.  That I’d been raised with values I believed in.  That fathers  don’t judge.   Fathers hope.

And that was a great gift from my father.  His knowledge of me and his hope for me. ..

And he liked you!

Ellespeth