Chapter 78
LATER THAT AFTERNOON I found myself in St. Anthony’s Church ? St. Tony’s, as I’ve called it since I was a kid growing up nearby in Nana’s equally revered house. The church is about a block from the hospital where Maria died. I’d moved my spiritual care from head doctor to head of the universe, and I hoped it was an upgrade but figured it might not be.
I knelt in front of the altar and let the overly sweet smell of incense and the familiar scenes of the nativity and the crucifixion wash over me and do their dirty work. The most striking thing about beautiful churches, to me, is that they were mostly designed by people who were inspired by a belief in something larger and more important than themselves, and this is how I try to lead my own life. I gazed up at the altar, and a sigh escaped my lips. As far as God goes, I believe. It’s as simple as that and always has been. I guess I feel it’s a little odd, or presumptuous, to imagine that God thinks as we do; or that God has a big, kind human face; or that God is white, brown, black, yellow, green, whatever; or that God listens to our prayers at all times of the day or night, or anytime at all.
But I said a few prayers for Kayla in the front row of St. Tony’s ? asking not just that she would survive her wounds but that she would mend in other important ways. People react differently to life-threatening attacks on their persons, on their family members, on their homes. I know about that firsthand. And now, unfortunately, so did Kayla.
While I was in a prayerful mood, I said some private words for Maria, who had been in my thoughts so much lately.
I even talked to Maria, whatever that means. I hoped she liked the way I was raising the kids ? a frequent subject between us. Then I said a prayer for Nana Mama and her fragile health; prayers for the kids; and even a few words for Rosie the Cat, who had been suffering from a severe cold, which I was afraid might be pneumonia. Don’t let our cat die. Not now. Rosie is good people too.