End of the day. My father's been sick for a few years now, we take it every few months at a time. I make sure to visit twice a week and call him profusely. We have hospice care for him: in-home. It's actually tremendous. He has turned for the better with the medical help he needed in the first place. Oxygen, pills, a visit from the nurse. It's been a load off both our collective chests.
Tonight was a visit. It's been a long couple of weeks. Gave him his Father's Day (he wasn't up for a visit on Sunday) gift. It was a fishing shirt and hat.
Took off relatively early, I have to wake up soon.
I work with EWTN to distribute some of their monthly programming changes to local churches. Decided tonight was as good as any.
It's an odd thing. As I entered St. B-'s, the soft strings of a harp played out. I look around in a daze. (The lights were on fully, so it wasn't as supernatural as it may first sound.) A visiting chorale group had taken the balcony and were practicing somewhere out of sight.
I took my knees in the antechamber and prayed for the young guy next to me. He looked pretty broken. (I'll pray again for him.) Didn't even look up to Mary. Took a knee before the Blessed Bread, in a pew. Kept an eye on a little kid kind of wandering the main aisle.
He eventually settled in front of my patron, at the front of the Church: Joseph. I didn't need to check on him anymore.
My usual prayers before the Eucharist. The choir master directed a few of the hidden musicians and asked, "Ready?"
The familiar swell of music (I'm an avid classical lover) calmly settled the air. Agnus Dei came from the voice of a middle-aged man (by the tenor and strain). Nice; his vocals were a little drowned. The choir master should wander the pews to get the arrangements better. Basically, less is more.
I kissed the marble floor; directly in front of the Eucharist. I set the sign upon me as I walked out with a few drips of holy water. Venus awaited me in a darkening sky.
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