At the 6:30am service, the priest’s finger shudders across my forehead with the black tracings of my humanity, like chalk on a backboard. Dust I was. Dust I will be. Make the most of your time here. Be holy, be holy, be holy. With all your mind and soul and being.
A day like most others.
And a visit to a nursing home where my sister-in-law has been in a coma for six months. The machine that pumps her full of nutrition has a white pall over it. A foreshadowing of what will come soon. Goodbyes said. Letting go as we need to.
Dust I was. Dust I will be. Be holy.
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