Information on the story and the first post can be found here.   

III.
Color Me Loved

“Andrea?”

Miranda had been surprised that the townhouse appeared to be devoid of life when the car slowed to a stop in front of it.  She trusted Andrea implicitly.  Of course she did. 

When she’d spoken with Andrea earlier in the day and been assured that her plans for tonight involved nothing more than a quiet evening at home, she’d taken her at her word.  But things came up.  Miranda knew that better than anyone.

Still, coming home to what appeared to be an empty house disturbed her more than she was willing to admit.

If Andrea told her that their age difference didn’t matter, then it didn’t. 

If Andrea maintained that she was only becoming more beautiful in her eyes with each passing year, then it was the truth.

If she just spent three hours flying coach with an obese man who smelled like the inside of a bowling alley on one side, and on the other a hyperactive five year old whose stubby little fingers nearly smeared strawberry jam on the arm of her  Michael Kors vicuna sweater only to find that Andrea was in fact not at home, then she would kill her.

The foyer was dark.  But there was light coming from the kitchen. 

She called out again.  “Andrea?”

“Miranda?”

She told herself it was not relief she felt at the sound of Andrea’s voice coming from the back of their home as she draped her jacket over the banister and headed for the lighted doorway.

“Miranda!”

Andrea was sitting on the kitchen floor, which was covered with newspaper and what for all intents appeared to be an alien autopsy.  She was inexpertly wielding a knife.

“Hello darling, I’m home.”  Miranda set her bag on the island and surveyed the battle field around her.

“I see that.  But, I didn’t expect you back until Tuesday.”

“Surprise.”

Andrea beamed up at her.  The obvious joy and love in her eyes made every minute in coach completely worth it.

“I suppose you’re going to make me ask just what you’re doing.”

“Oh.” 

Warmth spread through her stomach as she watched Andrea survey the mess surrounding her.  She looked dumbfounded as to just how she had ended up on the floor with a knife in her hand surrounded by gourds.

“Well, like I said, wasn’t expecting you that’s for sure.  I’m carving pumpkins.”

“Yes, but why?”

“To surprise you.  And Caroline is going to visit this weekend.  I thought it would be fun to rent some scary movies and have a girls' night.  It’ll be even better now that you’re here.”

“Are you sure?  I won’t sit idly by while you two gobble candy.”

“Oh come on Miranda it’s Halloween.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I suppose I can forgo the treat if you’ll volunteer to be my trick.”  Andrea waggled her eyebrows.  A maneuver she never successfully managed to make look anything but ridiculous and Miranda laughed.

“Seriously Andrea, whatever possessed you to carve pumpkins?”  

“Martha sent them over.  Aren’t they wonderful?”

“The past two weeks it’s been nothing but Martha this and Martha that.  You’re not turning into one of her minions are you?”

“Of course not, even Martha has better sense than to try and get me into the kitchen.”

“Well,” she shrugged her shoulders.  Andrea and cooking were a natural disaster.

“You know she really is wonderful.  You two have so much in common.  And it’s an honor that she is letting me profile her for the book.”

Andrea returned to her carving, prattling on—oblivious to the dangerous squint in Miranda’s eyes—about the amazing woman who had sent over the pumpkins that were littering their kitchen floor. 

Miranda tuned out.  What she had in common with Martha Stewart better stop at Andrea.  How could Andrea be so naïve?  She had the delicious thought that if Martha sent Andrea cupcakes she would enjoy shoving them down the domestic demon’s throat.

“…and I think I can get Hillary Clinton to talk to me.  Well, consider the idea at least.  My publisher is thrilled.”

Miranda was fuming.  Hillary Clinton.  Andrea just loved Hillary Clinton. 

“Miranda?  Miranda, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am darling.  You just know how I hang on your every inane word.”

Miranda’s tone was arsenic.  Her hands had made their way to her hips.  She was willing a point just over Andrea’s shoulder to spontaneously combust.  This was not how she had pictured her surprise homecoming.

That Andrea rolled her eyes as she rose from the floor didn’t help.  Nor did her body’s reaction to Andrea’s sweat pant clad backside as she leaned over the sink to wash her hands.  It was true, Andrea’s ass was indeed “JUICY” in what she recognized as a cast off from Caroline’s sorority rush week.

“Miranda what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Miranda, don’t make me analyze you.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Andrea snorted.  “Okay, here we go.  So what prompted you to leave the shoot you described as ‘the most exciting collaboration of young photographers and designers I’ve seen in the past fifteen years’ five days early?”

“Nigel had things well in hand.  I knew I had what I wanted.  Staying would have been counterproductive.”

“And?”

There was a long pause.  Andrea had her cornered with that open expression of love, understanding, and absolute acceptance that undid her every time.

Miranda resisted the urge to break eye contact and shuffle her feet like a guilty child.

“You’ve been a bit off for weeks now.  Is this about your birthday?  If you really want plastic surgery, though goodness knows why you think you need it, then fine.  I’ll relent.  Let’s explore options.  But if you end up looking like Joan Rivers, I swear I’ll leave you.”

Miranda remained quiet.

“I will say this as often as you need to hear it, I love you Miranda Priestly.  All of you.  Your stubborn, sullen, difficult, petulant, drooping…”

“That’ll do.”

Andrea hugged her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel old.”

“You are old.”

Miranda pushed her away.

“Look Miranda, we’ve been over this.  You’re twenty five years older than me.  When I’m fifty you’ll be seventy five.”

“This isn’t helping Andrea.”

“Neither is pretending like it’s not the truth.  Or sulking and being spiteful towards the person who loves you with her whole soul.  I would open a vein for you Miranda.  I’m not leaving you.  Not if I have to change your Depends and push you around in a wheel chair.  Not even if you need dentures and I have to take them out and clean them.  Deal with it.  I’m fully vested here.”

“When I’m seventy five, you’ll be fifty.”

“Yes and when you’re a hundred I’ll be seventy five and it won’t matter.  So you better live to be a hundred because I’ll need someone to room with at the home.”

Miranda took a deep breath.  She didn’t want to push Andrea away.

“I came home because I missed you.”

“That’s better.”

Andrea stepped towards her again. 

“And because I was sick of hearing you go on and on about the amazing, wonderful, brilliant Martha fucking Stewart.”

Andrea looked scandalized.  But then she rarely swore.

“Ooh, you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous.  I just can’t believe how gullible you are.  That woman has ice water running through her veins.”

“Gullible?  You can’t be serious Miranda?”

She remembered the way Martha had sashayed up to her at a party a few months after she and Andrea had gone public.  “I see your excellent taste extends to people as well, Miranda.  Congratulations.”

“Yes, gullible.”

Andrea seemed to be considering something.  “I’ll admit there is something about her.”

Miranda ran a hand through her hair in exasperation.

“But I only have eyes for you.”

“Oh thanks very much Mr. Bond.”

Andrea opened her arms and Miranda obliged.  They held tightly to one another.

Andrea placed a light kiss on her temple.  “Welcome home.”

“That’s better.”

They separated and Andrea appeared to survey the mess she had made for the first time.  Her eyes landed on Miranda’s bag which had slipped open on the counter. 

“Miranda what’s that?”

She could feel her shoulders tense.  “It’s nothing.  Just some notes from the shoot.”

Andrea ignored her words and fished the supple leather clad volume out of Miranda’s bag.  Miranda held out her hand.

“It’s your favorite shade of red.”

“Yes, I had it specially made.”

“You said this color reminds you of me.”

“Clearly I was mistaken.  Such a rich color could not possibly remind me of someone so devoid of manners.  Now hand that over before you cover it with pumpkin innards.”

“Work, work, work.  Dearest you put Martha to shame.  So were you reading this on the plane?”

“Yes, now please hand it here.”

She should have just ignored her.  Her insistence had no doubt piqued Andrea’s curiosity.  Andrea was like a dog with a bone once that happened.

Andrea set the book on the counter and began flipping through the pages.  She looked up at Miranda, her eyes glassy.

“This…this is everything I’ve ever written.”

“I know.”

“But how?  I wrote this one in middle school!”

“Your mother.”

Andrea nodded and caressed the page.  The look of delayed shock on her face as her head whipped up was priceless.

“Wait you asked my mother for something?”

“She was quite happy to help.”

“My piece on the janitors' strike, my first article for The Mirror, Miranda they’re all here.”

“Yes I know.”

“But why?” 

“I miss you when I travel.”

“So you had this made?”

“The book yes.  But I glued the articles in myself.”  She said it flippantly in effort to cover her embarrassment.

“Why a scrapbook of my writing?  Why not photos?”

“Your words are who you are.  You really are a brilliant writer.  I wish you would trust me on that.”

“And you really are the great love of my life.  I wish you would trust me on that.”

As they came together again, she slid her hands beneath Andrea’s tank desperate to feel the smooth expanse of her back.  Andrea rested her forehead against Miranda’s.  Miranda couldn’t help it, she kissed Andrea’s nose.

“I think…this is the sweetest…no one has ever…”

She silenced her babbling with another kiss.  Andrea flushed the most delectable shade of plum as Miranda angled her closer, running her hands hips to stomach to breasts and back again.  She pulled away slightly to witness the effect.

“You’re blushing.”

Andrea was beaming at her again.  Now it felt like she was really home. 

“Color me loved?”

“Not yet, but let’s see how this orange will look next to your aubergine.”

Andrea quickly shrugged off her top and waggled her eyebrows.

“We’ve never done it in a pumpkin patch before.”

Miranda could only laugh.

IV.
We’re going to Disneyland!

“Cassidy I simply can’t spare a week off right now.”

“Come on mother you know that’s not true.”

“Look Cass, your mom doesn’t want to go.  Don’t force the issue.”

“Yes Cassidy, listen to Jefferson.  He’s making sense for once.”

“My name is Jeff, Miranda.”

“Perhaps I spoke to soon.  Jeffrey shouldn’t you see what Millicent is up to?”

“She’s watching The Little Mermaid mother.  And do you know why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Because she can’t wait to go to Disneyland with her family.”

“She is going to Disneyland with her family.”

Jeff grunted.  “She wants her grandmothers to be there too.”  He nodded apologetically in Andy’s direction.  It was her mother that he couldn’t stand.

“Jefferson do you really think now is the time for a vacation given that your wife is six months pregnant?”

Jeff narrowed his eyes.  “For the last time Miranda, my name is Jeff.”

Cassidy could feel the beginnings of a headache.  All she wanted was to make her little girl happy, and truth be told, having her mother and Andy come on this vacation would make her happy too.

That’s why they were here.  She had pleaded with Jeff much like their little girl; arguing that the memories would be priceless.  She was beginning to regret having made the effort.

Her brow throbbed and she winced.  Andy cleared her throat and stepped up to her mother’s side. 

“Miranda.”

Her tone was one of warning.  Cassidy recognized it from the day she told her mother she was getting married right after graduating from college and that no, she didn’t intend to work because she wanted to start a family, and stay home to raise them.

Millie spent quite a bit of time with both of her grandmothers.  Cassidy had never called Andy mom, but she considered her a parent none-the-less and to her children she would be grandma—no different from their biological grandmother. 

Most of the time Cassidy's life was wonderful.  The other thirty percent of the time it was her mother.   

“I’m sorry Jeff.”  Miranda emphasized the –eff in such a way that it sounded like an insult.

Andy wrapped her fingers around her mother’s arm and squeezed.

“We appreciate the invitation, but it would be hard to get away just now.  I’m working on an essay for Harper’s and Miranda has a slew of new employees to deal with.”

“Well she wouldn’t have a bunch of new people to ‘deal with’ if she hadn’t gone on a firing rampage in a fit of pique.”

Cassidy felt her eyes grow wide.  Her mother was going to kill her husband. 

She noticed Andy readjust and tighten her grip on her mother’s arm.  Red fingerprints marred the perfect white bicep and Cassidy wondered just what her mom would do if she wasn’t being held in place.

“Don’t start Jeff.”

“I’m sorry Andy, but you know how she gets me going.”

“Cassidy sit down and drink your tea before that headache gets any worse.”

Cassidy obeyed.  Andy didn’t use her command voice very often, but when she did, everyone tended to do as they were told.

Andy looked at her.  “This vacation is for one week?”

Cassidy nodded.

“And Millie really wants us to go?”

She nodded again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”  Miranda yanked herself free from Andy’s grasp and turned to her in astonishment.

“Yes Miranda, okay.”

“Andrea.”

“Miranda you could use a week off.  And it’s important to Millie.”

“Millicent.  I don’t know why you all insist on using ridiculous nicknames.”

“Cass, a little help here.”

“Please mother?”  Cassidy rubbed her stomach for good measure. 

Miranda harrumphed and rolled her eyes.  “All right Fine, we’re going to Disneyland.”

One month later and the sun was beating down on her mother’s untouched hot dog as Jeff, who had suggested the food item that her mother considered the most foul for no other reason than to cause trouble, posed for a picture with Millie and Cinderella.

“I refuse to eat this.”

“So don’t eat it Miranda.  For the love of god it’s a hot dog, not something to start world war three over.”

“I do believe you are enjoying this.”

“Well…perhaps just a little.”

 Millie was waving at them.  “Look granny it’s Cinderella.”

Miranda smiled indulgently at her granddaughter, but hissed at Andy.  “Remind me to think of a way to properly thank you again for the ‘granny’ bit.”

“Oh come on mother, it’s cute.  Besides, at least this way there’s no confusion between you and Andy.”

“I don’t see why she just couldn’t address me as grandmother.”

“Seriously Miranda?”

“Oh and you two were serious when you started this granny and nana business?”

“A bit of harmless fun dear.”  Andy scooped up the offensive hot dog and tossed it in the trash.

“It wouldn’t be so harmless if you were the granny.”

“I can’t be the granny, I’m too young.”

Cassidy laughed at the look on her mother’s face. 

“Cass I’m going to get your mom something proper to eat before she works herself into a snit.  We’ll be right back.” 

Andy tugged Miranda up from the table and Cassidy smiled as they disappeared behind the corner of the concession building, her mother quietly grumbling.

After Cinderella came Snow White.  Cassidy smiled and laughed as Jeff goofed about with the camera and Millie jumped around with one of the seven dwarfs.

“Who feels like ice cream?”

“Me, me, me.”  Millie was pumping her hand in the air.

“Jeff she just ate a hot dog.  I don’t want her to get sick.”

“Look Cass, I don’t know how Milificent raised you, but my kids are going to grow up eating hot dogs and ice cream.”

“Whose Milif—“

“Milificent honey,” Jeff gently helped their daughter with the difficult word, “is your granny.”

Millie looked puzzled.  Cassidy knew she had to nip this in the bud.  Thankfully they’d never made it to Sleeping Beauty.  “Tell your dad what kind of ice cream you'd like sweetie.”

“The one shaped like a frog.”

“One frog it is then.”  Jeff pecked her cheek. 

Cassidy gave him a disapproving glare and playfully swatted his butt as he turned away.

“Where did granny and nana go?”

“Granny didn’t like her hot dog and nana went to help her find something she would like.”

“I liked my hot dog mom.”

“That’s nice.”  She felt tired.  Her feet hurt and sweat was trickling down her back.  “Millie, mom’s a bit pooped, let’s go sit down.”

They made their way back to the table.  Despite her discomfort it made her truly happy to see the way her daughter’s eyes danced with joy at the sights around them.

“Can I go look for granny and nana?”

“Just to the corner of the building there and then come right back.”

Millie darted up with an energy she envied.  A moment later her daughter’s troubled call infused her with a different kind of energy as she covered the ten feet to the corner of the stand in what seemed like a single stride.

“Mom! Mom!”  Millie’s eyes filled with surprise at seeing her mother already by her side and she pointed.  “Nana’s giving granny the hi-lick!”

Cassidy peered around the corner and could feel her concern dissolve into disgust.  “Really you two this is Disneyland!”

Millie tugged at her mother’s dress.  “Is granny choking?”

In a perfect impersonation of her mother, Cassidy glared at the guilty duo.

Miranda squirmed away from Andrea, whose hand snaked out of her shirt.  A move that did not go unnoticed by Cassidy.  She shook her head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Millie’s head snapped back and forth between the adults.  She was doing a little jig of concern that matched each jerk of her neck perfectly.

“Millicent.  Stop dancing around.  I’m fine.”

Cassidy could feel her own insides curl a bit at that clipped tone of her mother’s.  She frowned.

Millie started to cry.

“Mother.”

“Miranda.”

Andy and Cassidy had spoken in unison as they both moved to pick up the blubbering little girl.  Cassidy backed off as her protruding stomach didn’t allow her to scoop Millie into arms.  She ran a hand through her daughter’s soft golden locks as Andy placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Your granny is just fine sweetie.”

“But she was making choking noises.”

Andy rubbed soothing circles into her granddaughter’s back and looked with exasperation over her shoulder at Miranda.

Cassidy almost laughed at their nonverbal exchange.  Millie definitely had Andy wrapped around her tiny fingers.

“Why did granny yell at me?”

“She didn’t mean to I’m sure.  Isn’t that right granny?”

A small laugh escaped Cassidy’s mouth at the way Andy had enunciated granny.  Her mother shot her a look before moving towards her granddaughter.

“I did not yell at you Millicent.  I apologize if it seemed that way.  I was merely startled.”

Miranda placed a kiss on Millie’s shiny pink cheek.

Millie squirmed to get down and glowed up at her granny. 

Her mother never did see the point in speaking any differently to children than adults and Millie loved being treated like a big girl.  Cassidy could see her daughter calculating.  She almost laughed again.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Prove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to go on the teacup ride.”

“You’ve been on the teacup ride.”

“Not with you.  Please take me on the teacup ride granny.”

The whine in her daughter’s voice made her attempt at manipulation all the more amusing.  Andy appeared on the edge of laughter as well.

Her mother looked from her to Andy for assistance. 

“She’s got your genes Miranda, what can I say?”

Millie looked like she was about to turn on the waterworks.

“Fine Millicent, I will take you on the teacup ride.”

Millie jumped with glee and grabbed her grandmother’s hand.

Andy patted Cassidy’s rounded stomach and linked their arms.  They began to walk slowly after the pair that hand in hand were headed towards the grouping of giant teacups.

“I hope you know your mother is going to take this out on me.”

“Good.  Serves you right for groping her like a teenage boy behind a concession stand in plain view of Mickey Mouse.”

“Hey, I’m sure if Mickey were given the chance he’d grope your mother too.”

Cassidy tugged Andy a bit closer. 

“Do you think she’ll throw up?”

“Who your mom?  I hope not.  Your mother has never taken kindly to her bodily functions and I think tossing her cookies in pubic might send her into fits.  Besides, we’d never get her back here.”

Andy looked pointedly at the soon to be addition to their little clan safely ensconced in Cassidy’s belly and smiled.

“You’re right about that.  And I figure in another six years or so, it will be time for another trip.”

“Great, Millie will be just on the edge of pre-pubescent sulking.  She and your mother will be a perfect match.”

They had come to a stop in front of the Mad Tea Party ride.  Her mother and Millie were ensconced in a white teacup with pink and gold hearts on the side.  “You know I never cared for Alice in Wonderland.”

“I shouldn’t doubt it, but a spinning teacup is a spinning teacup.”

“You’re a real font of wisdom Andy.”

“Oh shut up Cass.  I’m too busy trying to think of ways to divert your mother’s anger when her tour of duty in centrifugal hell concludes to be wise.”

The ride started up.  Miranda glowered at them briefly before bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle a yelp as Millie screamed in glee.

Cassidy watched amused as Andy fished a camera from her shoulder bag and began snapping pictures.

“I’m sure mother will just love that you’re immortalizing this moment for all time.”

“Miranda Priestly on the teacup ride at Disneyland.  Are you kidding?  This is blackmail pure and simple.”

“And all these years I thought it was you who was the mature one.  I’m shocked Andy.”

Andy winked at her and cringed as a particularly loud cry escaped from Miranda who went zooming past.  “One for the holiday cards?”

She took the camera from Andy.  Her mother’s white hair whipped out behind her.  Her mouth hung open and there was an uncharacteristic look of horror in her wild blue eyes.  Next to her Millie’s hands were thrown into the air, a rapturous peal of delight frozen on her face.

The ride had come to a stop and Millie was bounding towards her.

Andy moved off to meet Miranda and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist to steady her. 

Cassidy raised the camera and clicked.

As Millie tugged at her dress—a habit she needed to break her daughter of—and Jeff walked towards them with ice cream treats in hand, Cassidy looked at the camera again.

Frozen there was an image of love she was sure to remember for the rest of her life.  Andy was whispering something in her mother’s ear, one arm around her shoulders, the other cupping her chin.

Her mother looked a bit green and completely dazed, but she had instinctively leaned into her partner.  It wasn’t really the picture that was amazing.  It was the two women in it.

Cassidy smiled at her husband as he leaned in and kissed her cheek.  The baby inside of her kicked and she said a silent prayer of thanks to the forces that had brought them all together.

Children didn’t need a mother and a father so much as they needed stability and happiness and love.  Andy Sachs had taught her family how to love by the simple act of loving her mother.

“Can we go again granny?”

Before she could admonish her daughter, who had green ice cream dripping from her chain, Andy spoke up.

“I think granny’s had enough fun for one day.”  The look on Miranda’s face was profoundly grateful as Andy continued.  “We’re going to head back to our room.”

“Will we see you at dinner?” 

She would need to talk to Jeff later about sounding less eager when he hoped her mother wouldn’t be joining them.

Andy smiled indulgently at Jeff’s tone as she spoke.  “I don’t think so, Jefferson dear.  We’re really still quite full from the hot dogs and I think we’ll probably skip right to dessert in our room.”  The hand Andy tightened around her mother’s waist left little doubt as to the double entendre her words implied.

Jeff cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

Millie perked up.  “Can I eat dessert with nana and granny?”

“I don’t think so sweetie.”  She patted her daughter’s head.

Her mother had brightened at Jeff’s obvious discomfort. 

“Thank you for the lovely ride Millicent.  Nana and I will see you tomorrow at breakfast.”

Her mother and Andy bent as one and placed matching kisses on Millie’s cheeks.  

As they walked away, hand in hand, her mother looked over her shoulder at Jeff and blew him a kiss.  She then turned to Andy saying something which made her laugh.

Really, her parents were incorrigible. 

Millie had finished her ice cream and was looking expectantly up at her father.

“Granny rode the teacups with me.”

“Really?”

He looked to her for confirmation. 

“She did.  You know I’m really proud of the way my mother has jumped into this vacation and tried her best to make it a memorable experience for Millie.”

Minutes later, Cassidy momentarily regretted her own manipulative nature as she watched Jeff plunk down into the giant white teacup.  He could deal with roller coasters okay, but this was bound to make him regret insisting on the hot dogs. 

It served him right.  She’d make it up to him later.

V.
“Your children are not your children.”

Miranda smoothed the hair back from her face and nodded at the minister as she stepped up to the podium.

“I am here today to speak on behalf of my partner, Andrea Sachs who is too ill to travel at the moment.  She wanted me to convey her best to each of you and to read the eulogy she has prepared for her father.”

Miranda cleared her throat and unfolded the pages in front of her.  She had printed them off only hours ago and had not been given the chance to read them. 

Andrea’s father had passed away in his sleep four days ago: a blood clot in his brain.  Miranda had gotten on a plane bound for Cincinnati three days ago to handle the arrangements.  Andrea had emailed her the eulogy this morning.

Miranda glanced out at those assembled in the pews.  She hadn’t been in a church since her first marriage.  She recognized a few of the faces from past Sachs’ family gatherings.

The eyes of those she knew looked on her with sadness.  Whether it was sadness at the sudden death of Richard Sachs, sadness for Andrea’s cancer, or sadness for her because they assumed she too would be touched by loss soon Miranda couldn’t say.

She cleared her throat again and began to read.

“My father, Richard Eric Sachs, was a good man.  But then you already knew that.  Or could have guessed that I would say that because this is a speech about death and in death, whether we have been good or not is besides the point because we are all equal. 

In death then, it is easy to be forgiving.  It is easy to remember someone as good.

That makes it harder then to tell the truth. 

The woman reading this to you, Miranda Priestly, who has been the love of my life these past twenty nine years, I know understands this.

Because it is true that Richard Sachs was a good man.

But it is also true that he was not as good a father as he could have been. 

However, to be fair, it is equally true to say that I have not been as good a daughter as I could have been and it is for that which I grieve the most.

We are all equal in death.  And therefore in death there are no second chances.

My father and I drifted apart these past years.  The death of my mother, a woman we both loved dearly was partly to blame.  But now that I too may be dying from the same cancer that consumed her, I recognize that is only part of the truth.

The drift began the day I announced that I was involved with Miranda.”

She had to pause for a moment to steady herself.  She would get through this.  She would do justice to this.  Miranda looked at the picture of Andrea with her parents that had been blown up and placed at the front of the church. 

Andrea couldn’t have been more than ten.  She beamed up at her father, hair in pigtails, while her mother looked on.

She thought again of how she hadn’t been in a church since her first marriage.  She wasn’t sure if she ever really believed in a god.  But in this moment she cast a silent plea to the universe that Andrea survived.  At least long enough to let her die first.

Miranda took a deep breath and continued.

“My parents didn’t have a problem with the fact that Miranda was a woman.  But then you all know how liberal the Sachs family is.  They were naturally concerned about the age difference between us, but then so was Miranda. 

For the record, it has never bothered me.

Eventually my mother grew to respect and like Miranda.  She got over the fact that Miranda had been my boss from hell.

My father on the other hand never did.  But then he had what was in his mind a better reason I suppose.

When I was still Miranda’s assistant he came to visit me in New York.  Miranda was in Miami, unable to get a flight home for her daughters’ recital due to a hurricane. 

Naturally she called my phone continuously demanding the impossible.  I became hysterical.  I even tried calling the National Guard.

It was the first time I allowed something in my life to interfere with what had always been our special father-daughter time.  It was my choice, but I know my father never stopped blaming Miranda.”

She had to pause again.  Miranda looked out at those in attendance, searching for recrimination.  There was none.  She wiped a tear from her cheek.

“So that’s it then.  One night so long ago has stood between us for the past thirty some odd years.

As you sit gathered today, remembering my father’s life and mourning its loss, it is my hope too that you will learn from his mistake and from mine.

And yet again, I find that I have written a cliché.  For just as we are all good in death, so too do all our lives leave lessons behind for the living.

But what is the lesson here?  Is it that we should not allow past mistakes to stand in the way with those we love?

Of course.

Is it that we should reach out to one another again and again regardless of the prospect of reciprocity?

Of course.

Is this is a lesson about parents and children?

Absolutely.

And it is to this last point that I wish to speak.  I consider myself a parent.  Though I have never born children of my own, when Miranda came into my life so did her twins Caroline and Cassidy.  The quintessential package deal.

I love Cassidy and Caroline like they were my own daughters.  I love the grandchildren Cassidy has given me and Miranda.  It is because of them that I can say when it comes to family, let nothing stand in the way of the love that you feel.

Have the girls done things that have upset me over the years? 

You bet. 

When Cassidy decided to marry her college sweet heart and pursue motherhood in lieu of a career I scratched my head.  I didn’t have to say anything.  Miranda said enough for the both of us.

Each time Caroline came home with a different hair color and man on her arm I frowned.  When she calmed down a bit and decided to pursue a career in geology instead of art, I had my doubts.  So did Miranda.

Now Cassidy has three wonderful children and Caroline lives in Iceland.  Miranda and I have never been more proud.  They made their choices as I made mine.  The difference is that I decided none of their choices would come between my relationships with them.

Kahil Gibran wrote,
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Life longs for itself.  I know that.

‘Life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.’  I have learned that.

That there are forces greater than our individual will, bending us to a purpose I know not of, I have learned too.

That love is the stability which enables us to bend I am certain.

My father was a good man.  We loved each other, but not enough to bend in the name of gladness. 

When you think of my father, remember that.  And in your own life and your dealings with those you love, find a way to bend in gladness. 

Through that my father will live on.  Through that I will live on when my time comes.  So too will each of you.

I want to thank each of you for being here today.  I wish you all the best life has to offer.”

Miranda did not look up.  She could hear someone blowing their nose.  She felt the minister’s gentle touch on her elbow.  He smiled at her.  She did her best to smile back as she stepped down from the podium.

Five hours later and she was on a plane home.

Miranda was bone weary when she greeted the nurse that sat by Andrea’s side.  “I’ll take it from here Angela.”

Angela smiled at her and quietly left for her room down the hall.

“Miranda is that you.”

“I hope it’s me.  Who else were you expecting in our bedroom at one in the morning?”

Andrea’s laugh quickly turned into a rattling cough.

Miranda, who had begun stripping off her clothes the minute she entered the room, climbed into bed beside her and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“I’m so glad you’re home.  How was the funeral?”

“Everything went fine.  It was a lovely service.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know.”

“Yes, well go back to sleep.”

Miranda wrapped her arms around Andrea’s waist and tried not to notice the protrusion of her hip bone.

“Promise me something?”

“I’ll promise you the moon if you let us get some rest.”

“Seriously Miranda.”  There was a long, deep quiet.  She could tell Andrea was crying.  “I need you to promise me that if I die, you won’t shut down.  That you’ll be happy.  That you’ll let the girls in.  That you'll take care of them and let them take care of you.”

Her voice was barely a whisper.  “I promise.”  Miranda could feel Andrea exhale as she kissed her shoulder.  “But you’re not going to die, at least not tonight, so go to sleep.”

Andrea nodded and burrowed closer to Miranda’s warmth.