St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin

Yesterday, we went to a few old churches in Dublin.  Among them was St. Patrick’s.

Somehow it seemed right, here in the homeland of my heritage, to light a candle in honor of those from my family who have died:  Tom, Eileen, Kathleen, Nancy and brother-in-law Tom.  I miss them.  The candle Phil and I lit is the center one in the second row.

My parents, Tom and Eileen, were married on August 3.  I remembered their anniversary that day and thought of writing about it for you, but the day got away before I got to writing about it.

My dad was good friends with a priest, Fr. Morrisey.  Actually, they grew up together and went to school together at Our lady of Grace.  He married my parents.  Every year, on the Sunday closest to my parent’s anniversary, Father Jim would say a Mass for them and our family.

So, it became a ritual for Tom and Eileen to pile my sisters and brother and me into the car and we would drive to church wherever it was that Fr. Morrisey was saying Mass .  I remember once going to Blue Island, Ill.  It was a long way away, or so it seemed to me at the time, and I got to wondering if we couldn’t, you know, stop doing this.

Looking back from here, it was a good tradition.  I am grateful to my parents for their acknowledgement of things that matter how ever long it takes to get there.

Aging well . . . remembering . . . giving thanks . . . lighting the candles.