Diary of a Wandering Psychic 01
Posted: Thu Feb 05, 2009 3:48 pm
(OCC: In May 08, I, my wife, and a dozen of our best friends rented two vans and spent two weeks driving all over England and Scotland. In that time, we covered some of the more interesting areas I read in BTS 1-ed, lo, those many years ago.
Note: These vignettes are in no way autobiographical. I’m doing some exorcism on a BTS 1-ed character that’s been floating through my head for the last decade.)
17 March 2008:
Bethany is dead.
I am 24 years old. And a widower.
I can say that now, and realize that it is true. I can say that now, and not be washed away in a tide of grief.
We had three glorious years together before the leukemia proved fatal. Those memories hold me together in this dark time. I don’t know what to do. Bethany was my light, my life. Everything revolved around her and her happiness.
And now she’s gone.
Enough. I am alive, and despair is a mortal sin.
Surprisingly, the Church has also become a source of solace. Father Chuck contacted me shortly before Bethany’s death. I had not expected this, after the harsh words we exchanged when I left seminary. But forgiveness is his business, and Bethany, from her sickbed, counseled a reconciliation with my old mentor.
I’m glad she did. Father Chuck’s support meant a great deal to Bethany and I in her last months. Her conversion to Catholicism renewed my own faith. I am practicing again, though not as often as I should.
It helps.
I shan’t enter seminary again. Time married has changed me, and I no longer feel that call. But I don’t know what to do with my life now. I need time, and a change of scene, to think over my options.
To England. Bethany and I planned this trip. It would be a terrible legacy to waste her last gift to me.
To England, and her historied hills.
Note: These vignettes are in no way autobiographical. I’m doing some exorcism on a BTS 1-ed character that’s been floating through my head for the last decade.)
17 March 2008:
Bethany is dead.
I am 24 years old. And a widower.
I can say that now, and realize that it is true. I can say that now, and not be washed away in a tide of grief.
We had three glorious years together before the leukemia proved fatal. Those memories hold me together in this dark time. I don’t know what to do. Bethany was my light, my life. Everything revolved around her and her happiness.
And now she’s gone.
Enough. I am alive, and despair is a mortal sin.
Surprisingly, the Church has also become a source of solace. Father Chuck contacted me shortly before Bethany’s death. I had not expected this, after the harsh words we exchanged when I left seminary. But forgiveness is his business, and Bethany, from her sickbed, counseled a reconciliation with my old mentor.
I’m glad she did. Father Chuck’s support meant a great deal to Bethany and I in her last months. Her conversion to Catholicism renewed my own faith. I am practicing again, though not as often as I should.
It helps.
I shan’t enter seminary again. Time married has changed me, and I no longer feel that call. But I don’t know what to do with my life now. I need time, and a change of scene, to think over my options.
To England. Bethany and I planned this trip. It would be a terrible legacy to waste her last gift to me.
To England, and her historied hills.
