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“No, just the opposite. Wear something bright and cheery.” My smile widened. “Today, we are celebrating Anabel’s life. Not mourning it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tanya bounced down the stairs. For a second, I did a double take. She was wearing one of Anabel’s favorite dresses, an off-the-shoulder pink polka-dotted midi. With her new bangs, I thought I was seeing my daughter. I heard myself gasp, and then, with a headshake, erased the illusion from my mind.
* * *
Located in nearby Windsor Square, Saint Andrew’s Church was walking distance from my house, but I’d chosen to drive as we’d be going to the cemetery located in The Valley right after mass.
Built about the same time as our house, the sizeable Gothic Revival church looked like one you might find in England, elegant and stately. The interior of the church was breathtaking, with its tall, vaulted ceiling and magnificent stained-glass windows, which let light into the chapel. The light felt like God’s presence and always filled me with awe. Not a particularly religious person, I didn’t go to mass regularly—usually just on holidays like Christmas and Easter and on special occasions, like my children’s communions. And today.
The 9:45a.m. mass, the most popular one, was packed. We found seats in the front of the sanctuary. I recognized many of the parishioners seated in the rich mahogany pews. With a nod or little wave, I acknowledged several seated nearby. There was a low rumbling among them, but it reduced to complete silence when Father Francis made his grand entrance up to the altar.
I followed along in my prayer book as the imposing, but benevolent, white-haired priest led us through the service. He had been a source of great comfort to me when Anabel died, but not enough to prevent my breakdown. Still, I was grateful to him and contributed generously to the church, as well as helped out with their annual fundraiser.
Intermittently, I stole a glance at Tanya. Her prayer book was closed on her lap, and she looked bored and fidgety, like she was eager to leave. Maybe she was sorry she’d asked to come along. At this point, there was nothing I could do about it, so I focused on the service.
Mass was always the same. The uplifting songs, the psalms, communion, and the sermon. Today’s reading was from Jeremiah 14:10.
I listened intently as the voice of the priest thundered. His fiery eyes stayed locked on mine, like he had singled me out and was talking directly to me.
“He, the Lord, shall still remember their guilt and punish their sins.”
The words reverberated in my head. Made me shudder. Guilt squeezed my heart and gnawed at my soul. God was never going to let me forget my sins. Ever.
“Are you okay?” whispered Tanya, noticing my shaken state.
Wordlessly, I nodded, thankful she didn’t take hold of my hand. It was cold as ice and trembling.
Still shaken, I was glad when mass was over. Grabbing my bag, I stood and sidestepped out of the pew, Tanya following me. I moved quickly, keeping my head bowed to avoid a conversation with anyone I knew. I wasn’t in the mood.
“Gosh, that was long!” groaned Tanya. “I wish you’d told me.”
I was a bit taken aback by her remark and now wondered why she’d asked to come along. For sure she should have known how long Sunday mass is. “Don’t you go to church services at home? Pray for your mother?”
She shrugged. “Not really.” Then added, “Can’t we just go? My feet hurt from having to stand so much.”
Her impatience piqued me, but I let it go. “There’s one thing I have to do before we leave.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now what?”
“I have to light a candle.” With a petulant pout, Tanya followed me to the cluster of votive candles located at the back of the church. There used to be wax ones to light, but the fire department deemed them a hazard several years ago, hence these flameless LED replacements. Tanya stood next to me, for the first time taking an interest.
“What are they for?”
“Mostly to remember the dead…to say a prayer for them. You can also pray to God and ask Him to help you with your most urgent needs.”
“Cool. Can I light one?”
“Of course.” I watched as she chose a candle close to mine.
Emotion again rising in my chest, my fingers quivering, I flipped the little switch that turned the candle on. As it lit up, I spoke silent words.
“My dearest, sweetest, beautiful Anabel. I miss you terribly, but you live in my heart every second of the day. Wherever you are, I hope you hear me and feel my great love.”
Tears blurring my vision, I glanced at Tanya. Her candle was lit and she was staring at it. The slightest of smirks lurked on her lips.
A sudden chill ran through me. I tightened my shawl around my shoulders.
What could she be praying for?
