Memories have a way of coming up in our present life experience and knocking us to the floor when we least expect it.
I went to the Rosary for Mr. McNeany. It was a beautiful sunny evening, so perfect for a man who created so much sun in the lives of those he touched. Joe, one of his youngest sons (who looks just like his dad) was at the door to the Chapel greeting everyone and thanking us for coming. It was just like something his father would do.
Upon seeing Joe in his suit and shaking everyone's hands my heart fills with sadness like slow molasses over a heavy pancake. Unexpectedly, I want someone to hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be fine ... I was about to relive my own father's death ... twenty eight years later. I am ill prepared for where my emotions are about to take me. Suddenly I feel very alone, just like I did at my own father's Rosary. I don't know why I didn't ask someone to come with me.
Why do I have to pretend to be so strong?
When I am not.
C
