Page 95 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“I wanted to tell you privately what I couldn’t say publicly,” he continues. “The Church is losing something precious when you leave. Not just your talent, but your integrity. Your willingness to wrestle with hard questions. Your refusal to accept easy answers.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“I meant what I said during your confession,” Father Gabriel continues. “The Church will change. It has to. But I understand that you can’t wait for that change.” He pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “If I’m honest, I’m tired of waiting too.”
“Father—“
“I’m not saying anything that would jeopardize my position.” He puts his glasses back on. “Just that I’ve spent many sleepless nights praying over this, and I keep coming back to the same question.” He looks at me directly. “Is love a sin? I don’t think it can be.”
He pauses, and his voice softens. “You and Victor…I see the way he looks at you. I see grace there, Jason. I do.”
My eyes burn. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I wish I could do more than say it.” He pulls open a drawer and removes a business card, which he slides across the desk to me. “However, I know the pastor at Holy Name in Manhattan. They’re looking for someone to head up their adult formation program. Leading music for evening prayer, coordinating guest artists, that sort of thing. It’s part-time, but it’s something. And Father Tom has performed twice as many blessings for same-sex couples as I have.”
I have a new job, and I’m honestly not sure I want to join another church, at least right now. But it’s kind and thoughtful of Father Gabriel, and I pick up the card. “Thank you, Father.”
“I hope you won’t let the Church’s failures rob you of your calling.” He stands and extends his hand. “And I hope you’ll come back to visit sometimes. Maybe even sing for us on special occasions.”
I shake his hand, then pull him into a hug. He stiffens for just a moment—he’s not usually a hugger—but then his arms come around me and he pats my back.
“Go on,” he says when we separate. “You have people waiting for you.”
The parish hall has been transformed. There are tables set up with white cloths, arrangements of flowers, and enough food to feed an army. There’s an easel in the corner with photos pinned to it: the Six performing at various venues over the years, me directing the children’s choir, candid shots from past concerts.
But what catches my attention is the banner strung across the back wall: THANK YOU, JASON.
“Surprise,” Kelsey says, appearing at my elbow. “Mrs. Kowalski and I helped Father Gabriel plan it. Well, Mrs. Kowalski did most of the actual planning. I gathered the photos.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweetie. This is…it’s perfect.”
“You deserve it.” She loops her arm through mine. “You’ve given so much to this place. I’m glad they’re giving something back.”
We make our way through the crowd. I accept congratulations, make small talk, promise to stay in touch. The other members of the Six surround me at various points. Calvin and Kevin, Julian. Owen Tran, our countertenor, who works as a nurse, and Ben Calloway, our second baritone who teaches music at a Montessori school. They’ve been more than colleagues. They’ve been family.
“Speech!” someone—I think Kevin—calls out, and the call is taken up by others until I’m standing in front of the banner with everyone’s eyes on me.
I’ve conducted hundreds of rehearsals, led countless worship services, given program notes at dozens of concerts. But this is different. This is goodbye to a chapter of my life, and I’m not sure I have the words.
Then I see Victor, standing off to the side with Kelsey and Adrienne, and suddenly I know what I want to say.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” I begin. “And thank you for these twenty years. Saint Sebastian’s has been more than a job for me. It’s been a spiritual home, a creative sanctuary, and a community that challenged me and supported me in equal measure.”
I pause. This is the part I didn’t plan.
“I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to reconcile different parts of myself. I’m still working on it, honestly.” The silence in the room is generous, patient. “But recently, someone reminded me that I don’t have to choose between my faith and being my authentic self.”
I look directly at Victor now, and the love in his eyes nearly undoes me.
“I’m leaving my position as music director, but I’m not leaving my faith. I’m not leaving the music that’s been my life’s work. And I’m not leaving behind the relationships I’ve built here.” I gesture to the Six. “I’m grateful that I get to keep making music with these five talented, generous souls. And I’m grateful to Father Gabriel for his compassion and wisdom.”
I take a deep breath.
“Most of all, I’m grateful that I’m finally brave enough to live my whole life.” I stop there because that’s all I’ve got.
The applause is thunderous. People surge forward to hug me, and I’m caught in a tide of affection and well-wishes. By the time I make it across the room to where Victor is standing, I’m emotionally wrung out, but lighter than I’ve felt in years.
“That was quite a speech,” Victor says, his voice low and intimate despite the crowd around us.
