CEMETERY  MOMENT

 [Sort of a poem, sort of a story,  sort of a homily for today's feast of Saint Matthias]

One spring morning, a lone figure came

walking up a cemetery path – looking like -

he was looking for - a grave – obviously.

About 30 or 40 yards away – under a tree

were two women,  also visiting their dead –

looking to see where the stranger was heading

The two women had never seen him here

before. The stranger was looking around,

but finally found the grave he was looking for.

The stranger – it was me – was at an almost

empty cemetery in Portland, Maine. I sat

down on the  green grass – at that grave.

Time ticked on – till the two women walked

over to talk to the stranger. “Family? Friend?

We’ve never seen anyone visit this spot before?”

I said, “She’s my dad’s sister. I visited here -

maybe 30 years ago – and finally got back.

I’m on a cruise and our ship is in the harbor.”

One woman read out loud the name and

the numbers on the grey granite tombstone.

“Sister M Matthias Costello 1884 – 1913.”

I said, “She died long before I was born. I

never knew her. I don’t know anything about

her – other than she died of TB at 29.”

Silence …. Then I added, “She was like

Saint Matthias.  All we know is he chose

Christ and Christ chose him. That’s it.”

I told the two women my dad’s two sisters

are buried here – also nuns – and together

we found their graves – and his brother as well.

Then they took me to their husband’s graves,

who had died recently,  We said some prayers.

Then they took me  down to the harbor and my boat.