The next day, he did something I never expected. He did not only confront his mother. He took my fathers plain brass urn, the one Diane had called an eyesore, and he told me he wanted to make it the most honored thing in our home, so that no one could ever again mistake my fathers memory for something to hide.
I did not understand until he showed me.
He had decided that the truest answer to Diane calling my father an eyesore that clashed with the decor was to build our entire home around him, to make the plain brass urn the cherished centerpiece it always should have been, honored so openly that its plainness became its glory.
First he dealt with Diane, firmly and finally, no more touching our home, a real apology owed, not welcome until she understood. For the first time in twelve years, his no held.
But then he did the beautiful thing. He built my father a place of true honor. He had a lovely lighted alcove made in our living room, the finest spot in the house, and he cleaned and polished the plain brass urn until it gleamed, and he set it there, front and center, with my childrens drawings framed around it, and photographs of my father, and a little shelf where the kids could keep leaving him their birthday pictures.
Where Diane had hidden my father in a trash can because he was plain and did not match, my husband made my plain, dear father the beating heart of our home, the first thing you see, honored above every pretty decoration.
He said: Your father is not an eyesore. He is the most important thing in this house. So he gets the best place in it. Let anyone who visits see, the moment they walk in, exactly how loved and honored he is.
And he invited the family to see it, the same family that had watched Diane treat our home as hers. They came, and they stood before my fathers honored alcove, and they told me how beautiful it was, how loved my father clearly had been, and Diane stood among them and understood, at last, the magnitude of what she had tried to throw away.
The plain brass urn Diane had called an eyesore now glows in the place of honor in our home, more beautiful than any decoration she ever chose, because it holds my father, and love makes plain things radiant.
She apologized after that, because she had watched a whole family cherish the very thing she had sneered at and discarded.
My father is honored on our mantel again, more than honored, enshrined, glowing in the finest spot in our home, surrounded by his grandchildrens drawings, where I say good morning to him every day.
My husband is the gentlest man alive. He answered cruelty with honor. Diane tried to hide my father because he was plain. My gentle husband made my plain, beloved father the radiant heart of our home. Love makes plain things shine, my daddy always said. He was right. He is shining now, in the best place in our house, honored forever. My gentle husband made it so.