After many years of roaming, I have come home to where I was born and raised. Much has changed in fifty years, but the town I grew up in back in the forties and fifties and the people I knew still exist in the back roads of my mind. If the sun shines just right and if I squint just so, they’re there, smiling and waving me home.
I miss the traditions and liturgy I grew up in. It was who I was in the forties and fifties. I walk in St. Mary’s cemetery and read the names of my childhood engraved in stone. The smell of incense transports me back to those many years as an altar boy. I learned the mass in Latin, my part and the priests from repetition.
I miss the quiet peace and solitude I found in a visit to the church. I miss the back pew where my mother sat for so many years. If I look close, I can see her when the light through the stained glass falls just right. She’s there watching and smiling for she knows I will find my way home.
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Oh my goodness Butch. I’m right behind you, walk in your shadow.
Peace be with you.
blessings ~ maxi
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Wow, you filled my heart this morning…reading your words was like reading my own thoughts.
All of your memories and experiences are similar to mine. When I attend Mass at St. John the Baptist in Ohio, when we visit I am transformed to my growing up years. The beauty, peace, smells, and the same spot where we always sat; the beautiful stained glass windows next to “our” pew:-)
I also visit St. John’s cemetery, and visit the graves of all the parishioners whose names are so familiar to me. Many family members are buried there, including my father. It is a beautiful, reverent place, and always feels like I am “home.”
Your journey home is a beautiful one. Thanks for sharing.
Bernadette
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