Making Room for Dad's New Girlfriend

During a family expedition to find the perfect Christmas tree, I mentally criticized Pam for the elevator-friendly Christmas music she brought along. My mom adored both Christmas and singing; she used to blare classic carols through our house from Thanksgiving until well after New Year's, belting them out with more enthusiasm than skill in red and green outfits that only she could pull off. We drove to the tree farm in uncharacteristic silence.

One evening during Thanksgiving break, Pam cuddled with my dad on the beige leather couch I had helped my mom pick out. A matted Japanese print overhead served as a souvenir of both her trips and her life. I walked in and offered Pam and my dad a piece of the freshly baked cranberry bread. Like it or not, Pam was going to be a part of our lives.

My dad sat between Pam and me during our church service last weekend in our family's usual balcony pew. When the congregation stood for "Here I Am, Lord," my dad bolted from the sanctuary, returning only after the last verse had concluded. This was my mom's favorite hymn, a rousing anthem we sang at her memorial service. None of us could sing it without hearing Mom's voice echoing forcefully over our shoulders. Pam and I stood next to each other, without my dad as a buffer, and sang the hymn together. I belted it out in honor of my mother with exaggerated zeal. "I the Lord of snow and rain/I have borne my people's pain/I have wept for love of them/they turn away." It is impossible to cry while singing loudly. Over brunch, my dad offered me a needless explanation for his flight: "It was getting crowded in the pew with you, Mom and Pam all there," he said.

I am not evolved enough to be able to say that I rejoice every time Pam enters the room. She still annoys me occasionally, but she's beginning to grow on me. My dad is happier than he has been since my mom died, and I am really, truly happy for them. I know it's time for all of us to start building lives for ourselves that don't revolve entirely around Mom.

It's enough for me to know that she'll still show up every once in a while, comforting us and pushing us forward in her full alto voice.

Maynard lives in Washington, D.C.

© 2007