| | While I have my suspicions that there are very few of my loyal readers left, that is alright. I suppose I've had a good run with blogging, and I also suspect that it will not be a constant habit of mine anymore. It is, however, always nice to have someone read your thoughts.
Something that's been on my mind: a cousin of mine died a few weeks ago. This is a sad story, if you didn't get that from the title. I don't think I ever met her... my uncle married a woman to whom she was born in a previous marriage. Still, my parents drove down to Missouri for the funeral. They learned some things about her life.
My cousin used to have a husband who wasn't a kind person to her. They ended up getting divorced. She had a hard life, apparently and it was pretty miserable in general. She ended up meeting a new man, who was in the military. She told him "I don't care if you love me, I just care if you're nice to me." But he was nice to her and loved her too.
And they had a child, who is still very young. (I think my aunt is going to help take care of her, because it seems like the last connection to her daughter) But her husband, although he loved her and was nice to her, was away on a third tour of duty to the war. He was away for most of their marriage. After she had the child she got sick. I'm not sure with what. The doctors kept saying that she would get better and not to worry. But my aunt didn't know if she would. She told the husband that she ought to come home. After a month or so in the hospital, she suddenly got worse over three days and died. Her husband was still at war.
Here's a poem. I don't think there is very much to it, but I think it sounds nice. It's a nice poem.
Communion At St Margaret's, Winnipeg
I walk forward with my row,
Between the choir singing
And kneel before the priest
To receive the Eucharist
Voices shake the building,
I feel it in the wood
Christ's blood warms my heart
And makes me mindful of my mood
Holy church seldom visited:
(the jouney is too far)
Did Christ really walk in England?
Would we be better if he were?
Old wood floors, cracked drywall,
Opulent stained glass,
The people shuffle softly
In our communion mass
But halfway through the lay,
the choir must have ceased
leaving only sounds
of slowly walking feet,
people's lowered voices,
whispers, silly children's shouts
In our sacred shuffle,
There was no greater sound.
Brother Peter sits there silently,
Frustrated with life
To want to break and burn the pews
Out of anger, out of spite.
But I kneel and pray and listen
in a manner not like before.
I neither yearn nor worry,
My heart has been made whole.
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| | Posted 10/23/2008 4:17 PM - 12 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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