When we decided to get married, Ivy and I went to get the blessing of Lola Priscila, Ivy's 90-year old grandmother and the family matriarch.
We were in Manila in April, and it was hot and humid. She lay on a bed in an upstairs bedroom, attended by a maid. She was sleepy when we first arrived, but seemed to perk up when she realized that this American wanted to marry her granddaughter.
Ivy made the announcement: "Lola, Jim and I are going to be married."
She smiled warmly at both of us, and then got a little twinkle in her eye. "Congratulations on the coming child!"
Ivy was scandalized. "Lola! I'm not pregnant!" she said, laughing.
Lola's smile widened. "I said 'the coming child.'"
That was in 2005.
I'm not a particularly spiritual person. I don't actually believe in souls, at least most days.
But sometimes I think back on Lola Priscila's words, and I think about the tiny baby girl growing inside Ivy, and I wonder whose soul might be in there.
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