Picture this: Twenty two years ago, my youngest son was performing with two other guys all over the world. The Second Hand, an unusual, funny dance group had a gig in Denmark. Paul called me, said they were headed to Berlin and asked me to join him. Newly widowed, I had yet to spread my wings. I called him back and we arranged to meet in a week. About Denmark, there he met an artist, Eva Stengade. A thunderbolt struck them. Neither of them was free back then. Paul went on his way, they lost touch.
Fast forward to last Saturday. I knew they had connected a couple of years before and met the glowing Eva more than once. Paul called earlier last week to say they’d be married in a civil service Saturday. At last, overcome with joy I knew Paul’s dad smiled down approving of our son’s choice. After the ceremony they Skyped to say it was official. They were one. “And, sweet mom,” Eva said, “your ring fits perfectly.” Yes, they wore rings we’d worn for many happy years and now Paul and Eva wore them.