I shared time with my grandparents today. I do not think in years, but is years since they have passed.
I went to mas with my father, the same parish where I was raised, but the church is new.
Walking in, I touched my hand into the Holy Water font that welled then overflowed over ledge into rest of greater pool beneath.
In the center of the pool is a single seashell. The font means something to me. When my grandparents passed, they willed a donation to our parish and the construction of its new church. Of my grandparents’ life and legacy, the font is their remembrance and tribute.
Touching water’s face, in hope and ideal of spirit, I feel I’m touching them.
I make sign of the cross then say a prayer as heart remembers them: all the years, times, memories, moments, and live shared beside and looking for them in the pews.
At communion, I drink from the cup of Christ handed to me with benediction by a woman whose face I remember from both my grandfather and grandmother’s memorials.
She may not recognize me, but I recognize her. Such is enough. Life is not always about being seen but to see, affirm, and recognize the presence and life of others: even when they’re past.
Mind-seeing then, I pray for my grandparents. I pray for their souls. I pray for their peace.
Some may say you can do nothing for the dead; but our Catholic faith and principle of Purgatory believes different; and whether eternity proves such true or false, I value the ideal of praying for those who pass before us—prayer as an act of respect, love, and honor; a returning of blessings for all their existence and life afforded us: our very life foremost.
I thank God for their lives, for their blessing and lineage that led to my existence. I pray, in living, I may too extend the blessings, lineage, and Faith their lives imparted onto mine.
Departing, I touch their face again—water-mirror dream. I say another prayer as I leave them and return into the day feeling better for our time.