By Patrick J. Walsh
Today I walked in the park.
It has been nearly two and a half months since my Mom passed
away, and today was the first day since her passing that I have been able to
walk in the park.
Although I was by myself, I did not feel alone. It seemed as
though I might be walking a bit slower than I have in the past, but that may
have been an artifact of the emotions involved, or simply the result of my
lingering reacquaintance with the pleasantness of my surroundings.
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As I walked, my mind was awash in the notion of what it
would be like to live a life of pure spirit. Unencumbered by the infirmities of
age or illness or the limitations of this physical existence, the life of the
spirit could be open to the experience of all good things, immediately, without
reservation.
Following a physical life of faith and joy and the
preparation born of the sharing of one’s experiences and treasure without hesitation, the
life of the spirit seems a logical extension of a will well exercised in
gratitude and service.
In recent days, the exhilaration of this line of thought has
helped to temper the sadness of my grieving, and given rise to the kind of hope
that sustains mourner and mystic alike.
In this time of Lenten temperance, it is a hope whose
comfort is familiar to me, having been a part of all the Easters of my
childhood, and a defining characteristic of my Holy Week preparations as an
adult.
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I walked in the park today. I was by myself, but I did not
feel alone.
It is nice to know that we can walk together again, free of
the limitations of age and infirmity and illness.
My steps are a little slower than they once were, my
progress a little less than it will one day be. But it is good to walk again,
and to not be alone.
© Patrick J. Walsh
