Going Back

The rains came. The grass is greening. The sage is in bloom. I am rested. My spirit feels full, and I still find it hard to believe I am not lying in bed today recovering from surgery. The dream of last Friday, when a final consultation pulled me back, was real. Avoiding an early surgery may well have added five to seven years to the final span of my life. I am grateful.

So, grateful in fact that I may have found my religion, which is not something I usually talk about, but today I will. I grew up Catholic.  Practice hard. Served as an altar boy, learned the Latin. Attended Catholic schools, For the first two years of high school, I even attended the seminary. Later, in Texas, during my final years of high school, I led songs from the altar of our church. I married in the church. Took my kids to church. Was dutiful.

Then I fell away. Drifted off. Stayed home. Lost the sense of community. Today, I think I’ll go back. Last Friday seemed so special, so unreal, so full of good fortune that it felt miraculous and may even be a sign. A call to prayer, to contemplation, to peace in the familiar rituals. It feels right, and good. There I believe I might find the stability I need to map a new course for my life after the passing of my wife, just as I used to do all those years ago, when every new move of my father’s took me to a new world. The church was my constant. So, as I go, I am reminded of the lines written in my old St. Joseph’s Daily Missal, “I will go to the altar of God. To God, the joy of my youth.”

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale