One evening during the past few weeks, while we have all been really together, one of my sons expressed a fear.
It was a gentle moment.
It was as if he’d been storing his fear and comments for such a moment.
“Dad, I am worried that you are going to die and, well, you won’t be at my wedding and all those sorts of things. Is there like a guidebook for what I must do without you?
His care and concern and brewing anxiety moved me.
I explained that while it is indeed possible that I could die soon and even before his wedding, it was somewhat unlikely.
We reflected on how very capable he is and how little he requires me to do anything at all for him. I reminded him that our many friends, men and women who had known him from birth and who had witnessed his every growing phase, applauded his every achievement, would rally around him to love and welcome his bride – whomever she is – and combine efforts and resources to make their day spectacular.
I reminded him that my brother and and their families love him and his brother at least as much as I do.
And then we talked about something else.
I forget what.
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