Blessings

I wrote this poem exactly four years ago today. My dad had died the September before due to complications associated with a broken hip (it didn't help he had congested heart failure, Alzheimer's and Parkinson's). He was a dynamic man, almost larger than life. At the age of 42, he and my mom sold their hotel/restaurant business so he could enter the ministry. Since he didn't have even an associate's degree, we all lived on a minuscule paycheck while he attended college at Conception Abbey (a Benedictine monastery) and preached at two different churches. Within seven years, he'd earned his BA, MA, and PhD and built a new church. I miss him every day.

Blessings

My dad sang every Sunday
Before his sermon.
After visiting the Holy Land
He loved to sing, “I Walked Today
Where Jesus Walked”
For he’d felt a connection
Between place and time
And grew closer in his faith.
He had seen what Christ had witnessed,
Touched what God had molded,
Heard what the Father created.

This weekend, I kept expecting that mystical union
To miraculously come true for me.
Walking the steps of Conception Abbey,
I trod the paths my father
Had 30 years ago, saw the same trees,
Smelled the fresh country breezes,
Listened to raucous descendants
Of birds he’d heard in the 70s.
But
I wasn’t gifted.
I wanted a piece of the father I’d lost
Returned.
It didn’t happen.

This morning I rose with the nonexistent dawn,
Saw the fog obscure the scenic hillside,
And watched a quiet wren fly to and fro
Feeding his chicks.
Sitting on a bench under a massive sheltering oak,
I contemplated why numbness
Arrived in place of illumination.

Then
The bells tolled
Calling the faithful into home.
And I looked
Toward the Basilica
To find Joseph holding the Christ child
Peering over my shoulder
Reading my journal.

Heathen as I am,
I was blessed.
For a scant instant
A father’s love melted down
As droplets from Heaven,
Nourishing the earth,
Cleansing the air,
Renewing my soul.

“I walked today where he has walked and felt him standing there.”