A Bigger Picture, Part I

This is one of those stories that I need to add some details, so bear with me.  When I arrived in Florida to help my daughter, the first thing on my long list was to get her car's air conditioning fixed.  I took her car to Midas thinking a little freon was all it needed.  When I was told that it needed a whole new system, I politely said, "Prove it."  Which the very large Midas mechanic did (referred to as "Big M" hereafter).  Big M told me that it would take 3 - 4 hours.  I panicked knowing that the a/c was only the first thing on a list of many.  Big M agreed to let one of his mechanics drive me back to my daughter's school so I could help her clean, sort, pack and store her dorm room.  Edgar, the mechanic who drove me, was a nice man from Puerto Rico.  He was flipping through the radio stations and settled on a Christian music station.  I excitedly said, "You're a believer!!"  To which replied (after he recovered from the shock of my yelling at him on a busy highway), "Yes, with the life I have, it's my only hope."  He told me his life story which includes a hard working man, husband and father of 3.  He worked 3 jobs to support his family.  His oldest child, a son, is 15.  Last year his wife abruptly left him, taking the 3 children to Puerto Rico.  He has not seen his family since then.  Their leaving has left a huge hole in his heart.  I was saddened and spoke of how hard it must be for his son also.  I said, "A 15 year old boy needs his dad."  He assured me that he tries to talk to his son daily.  We were coming up on my daughter's school, but her school is a series of buildings on one way streets and alleys.  After we missed our turn, I said, "Turn here!", which Edgar did . . . right into a Funeral Parlor.  Much to our surprise, a funeral was in session!  Between our intense conversation, my anxiety and being lost, we were ripe for a bit of relief  . . .  we laughed hysterically and tried to disappear under the dashboard of the truck as the mourners poured out of the Funeral Parlor to their cars.  Little did I know that would not be the last time I saw Edgar, nor did I know that our chance meeting was perhaps not chance after all . . .  to be continued . . .