Telling The Family.

This week, Dave proposed.

This month, I’ve started a new job, a new commute, and a new phase of my life.  Even though I hadn’t shared the first two pieces of news with you, I knew I had to share this last piece of with you immediately.

Sharing is caring.

But I didn’t call you first.  I didn’t even call Dad first.  I called his mother.  Grandma and I talk regularly now and in more detail than any conversation I’ve had with you or Dad over the years.

Grandma’s know best.

Grandma and I talked on the phone and Dave and I promised we’d visit her during our Summer plans to visit California.  I sent her a couple of pictures of the night and among other things she said, “I have a couple of rings the same shape, must mean we have great tastes.”

Grandma’s know all.

The call with Dad went well but I felt a little funny.  It was a little awkward because it marked the breaking of the tradition of “asking permission.” But that act would have offended me the most seeing as I’ve seen Dad once in over a decade.

My permission was the only one Dave needed in my book of Broken Family Tales.

But as I crossed the names off my list, Dave reminded me that I needed to call you.  And I didn’t need to be reminded, but it’s always hardest talking to you.

Your hearing loss does help either.

I knew you had already been calling Dave my fiancée to anyone who would inquire.  This confused my Aunt, but she knew I would tell her myself if it was true.  So I called you last… but had to leave a voicemail for you to let me know when I could reach you next.

And when we talked, you were excited and we made plans to see each other soon.

A Christmas miracle. 

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