Coincidence? Or Something Else?

My dad always said a coincidence was God working anonymously.

I was raised in a Catholic Christian household, so I had some pretty strict definitions of who and what God was and how I should act accordingly.

However, I was also raised in a 12-step household, so I knew the concept of a Higher Power and how people can believe different things and call their Higher Power by different names, and it was all okay.

I was active in the Catholic church until my mid-thirties, when I had a sad departure. Deciding to leave the church felt as soul-rupturing as deciding to end my marriage, but the reasons also felt similar. My spirit could no longer survive the conditions I had placed it in. I grieved my departure for a long time, and during that time, I felt lost in the void.

If I don’t believe these things that I have believed my entire life, then what do I believe?

With the help of my ACA support group, daily meditation, talking to people I loved and trusted, and keeping myself open, praying into the void, hoping something was there listening, I realized many of my beliefs were still intact.

I couldn’t throw out the baby with the bath water, as they say.

So, I cradled my baby spiritual faith and patiently focused on developing a new relationship with a Higher Power of my understanding.

I don’t know how (or maybe I just don’t want to) to fully put into words what my spiritual beliefs are at this stage in my life, but they are strong and grounding and guiding and loving, and they provide the foundation I confidently stand on.

What does this have to do with my dad?

As a kid, I would give my dad the side-eye when he would say coincidences were God working anonymously. In my mind, it didn’t seem super anonymous if coincidences didn’t exist.

I’m still sometimes giving the side-eye when things happen, or I sigh into the universe, “Are you freaking serious?” Sometimes, the “coincidence” makes me stop and breathe and say, “okay. I’m listening.” Sometimes it brings out feelings I can’t explain or verbalize, and they can only be expressed with tears.

Earlier this month was the anniversary of the day my dad died. It’s been 20 years now since he passed. There is an AA meeting near my house that many old-timers like to attend, and I go when I’m available. It happened to fall on the anniversary, so I went.

I sat there listening to the discussion and looking around at people I knew my dad interacted with; some were his friends, some were just fellow alcoholics. These were people I now consider friends.

After the meeting, I walked over to one of them and asked how he was doing; I knew he had a surgery coming up. We talked for a minute, and then he said, “Hey, I was talking to [other guy] last week and thought of this time… [insert story about my dad]. It’s been forever since I thought about that. How long has it been since he died? It seems like forever.”

My voice cracked when I said, “Today is 20 years.”

He gave me that awkward stare people get when they step on an emotional landmine by accident and apologized for bringing it up. I stopped him mid-sentence and thanked him. It feels good that 20 years later, people are still sitting around talking about my dad.

Coincidence that a man I see pretty regularly brings up a funny story about my dad on the anniversary of his death? Or a reminder that he isn’t gone. He’s been right here with me the entire time.