Lord, thank you!
Thank you for the vein that pops out of Kathy’s forehead when she’s concentrating. That blue fault line, it’s like you can see her thoughts take flight— maybe great Hera herself one day. Thank you, Lord, for the smell of roasted vegetables, blue evenings and green afternoons. Thank you for inspiring my vocation through Father Dan’s homilies, the ones that woke me from my complacency. Thank you for Inwood Hill Park. Good movies and fresh popcorn with the good butter. Thank you for Matt and Katie’s new baby, the one they prayed for so fervently, so quietly. Thanks for our Holy Father Francis! For sneaking wine into the hospice center. Lord, thank you for that clutch parking spot, for those lobsters in Massachusetts. Screaming outside the car. I really want to thank you, my God, for accepting my apology. For forgiving me each and every time. Thanks for Deacon Lex smiling at the door—his dog’s chin on my lap. Thank you for Kathy’s family with all that laughing. Thank you for RJ. My Lord, thank you for all those moments that were so good, so important that have run away and seeped into my forgetting. Thanks for the poems of Billy Collins and all that Shakespeare. Thanks for the birthday dinner with more wine to come. Thanks for Maine! Lord, thank you for Richard Guerra. Thank you for taking me where I did not want to go, and that time my colleagues lifted me so high I thought I could touch the steeple. Mom’s mouthed “thank you” before she blossomed to that bright, ultimate elsewhere. Thank you for early evenings in North Carolina, for working with Michael Bruno. Thanks for Ed and shooting 124 on the golf course! I want to get down to 100. Thank you for laughing with my brother. My sister’s text, the white screen glowing, “how are you?” Thanks for Friday nights and Sunday afternoons. Stan Smith sneakers. My nephew’s terrible bowl haircut, my niece, dole-eyed, staring. Thank you for the great rehearsal, when the kids finally got it! Thanks for Modest Mouse and Paul Simon. Thanks for the Skype meetings. Trying not to laugh when the kindergartner can’t stop crying because her spoon fell on the floor — imagining you look at me the same way. Thank you. Thank you. For Your Son Jesus. For my strange, privileged, perfect little life, for getting up early, drinking too much coffee and loving You so much.
I’ll be seeing you,
Elliot