My grandma had her operation and we went to visit her in the hospital. I stood over her and looked into her face while she spoke to me of life, sickness and her children.
"Sickness is not a good thing. Neither is having children"
"Then why did you have eight?" I rebutted.
"Because I love them. You love children before you see them. Do you know why I love your dad?"
"No."
She explained to me - as she had in the past - that it was her hardest pregnancy. That a priest had visited her everyday and had given her a book on St Francis of Assissi who, in turn, gave my father his name.
"And you know what else?" She asked
"What?"
"He is a good man. When he sets himself to do something he does it. He isn't afraid of hard work. He is an honest man - no underhanded business. And if he is your friends he is your friend."
When I look at my dad I look at a very small period of his life and I look from a certain angle. It is beautiful to hear the angle of his mother. For the first time I thought I could see the man my mother fell in love with and married.
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