The pastor began the service by saying that the bride and groom wanted to recognize the people important in their lives who were unable to be there. Among those mentioned were my parents, Margy and Walter Robinson, who are both dead.
I’m not a religious person, but at that moment, the hair rose on the back of my neck. I believe I could feel my mother’s presence, shining down on us. Her grandchildren were important to her, more important than her own children because we were adults. In the summer, she held Camp Margy, during which the grandchildren were invited to spend the day — and night, if necessary — with her and my father for a week or two. They both welcomed the kids whenever was convenient for us to leave them.
Antonia is the oldest of the cousins. She was adopted as a child by my brother after her mother and his wife, Bebe, died. I don’t know that Antonia ever came to Camp Margy, but she certainly felt the love. Both he and Antonia’s biological father walked her down the aisle. (My brother, Walter, is on the right, above.) Her biological father told me later that, because Antonia lost her mother so early, family is uber-important to her. My parents were two of many who helped fill that need.
I know they are beaming in heaven right now. I felt it.