My parish,
Like your namesake,
You were the constant calm in my life,
Always calling me back from the chaos where I strayed.
You were the place I turned to for relief.
My home, my childhood;
My family, my life;
My God, and my love.
You are all that I have known.
When I was little,
I would daydream that I would get married here.
The trees blooming with flowers,
A cool breeze blowing from the river,
Just like the pictures of my parents.
But now I have grown up,
And the Church has grown old.
We have been born here,
But we have also died here.
The bitter sweetness of it all almost kills me.
We built this parish,
This small community,
And now we get to watch it fall.
The strong men who placed the first stones,
Now can only sit and watch in their old age as they are slowly demolished.
I may be leaving for the next chapter in my life,
But I always thought that you would still be here when I returned.
That may have been the naïve daydreams of a little girl,
Standing in front of an empty alter,
Singing soft Latin prayers to herself,
The ghost of the past echoing them back to her in candlelight.
Good Shepherd,
My dear Good Shepherd,
I will remember you always.
