A story about a father and son as told to my children and me by my husband.
“I know your mother was surprised when she arrived in Heaven and found only two of her three deceased children waiting for her.” My father gave me a wink and his familiar smile.
“I’m sure someone filled her in on what happened to me,” I answered.
The old man just smiled. I saw my dad one last time in 1913. He was 89 years old and fragile. He’d been born in 1824, come to California in 1849 with a wife and two small children in tow. I’d been born on the way out in Panama. After they arrived in Sacramento six more children were added to the family.
They’d come out with your parents, your grandparents, who were their closest friends. The men were business partners. Both of the wives were…
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