May 20–1964
The richness of springtime before I was born
I wasn’t there physically, yet. But something above in the sky was suggesting I would be soon.
My parents had just married on the 9th of May and were enjoying their honeymoon. A very beautiful mom, only a month younger than twenty-one, had to ask permission from her dad to sign for her marriage. That’s how laws worked at the time, in 1964.
My father was 28, a nice guy also. I loved him since the beginning while waiting in those soft and white clouds, unaware of any Aedipus definition I would eventually learn on Earth during my psychological studies.
May was the month of roses, the month of Holy Mary, the month in which spring was at its fullest splendor. The air was perfumed with all flowers blossoming, and humor was high, because the sun was always shining.
And I was there, waiting for my turn. My mom’s name is Mary, my second name is Mary.
Smell of roses on my path, including all the thorns, of course!
Three months into the joys of their union, I was conceived. I’m sure they would have liked some more time to spend together alone. On my part, I couldn’t wait to come into presence here, and gift others, and being gifted joys and sorrows as any other human being.
