In Memoriam

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.

--Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1849

I held my grandmother's hand wondering where she was - "Dear Mamita." After a while, my grandfather asked if I could pick up the priest. I was afraid, so I asked if he could come with me. Papito, my grandfather, is a giant. He waited patiently for translated explanations that beared no meaning. He then sat in the car, while in all my humility, I walked with Father Michael into the place that had always managed to comfort me - church. Father Michael unlocked the secret oils and bread, blessed them both, and brought it all with us. The Jamaican accent made him sound like he was the only one who could speak the language of angels. We prayed together in the room, hoping Mamita could hear us, and loved together just the same. I drove the priest back in tears for having lied about my faith. I know God understands that I needed to believe in this for a moment. My Dear Mamita, I hope she has found her way.