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December 22, 2009
I have never considered myself a good Catholic. I am Catholic because my parents are. I am Catholic because my grandmother was brought over to America by Catholic missionaries. I am Catholic because I have always attended catholic schools. I am Catholic because I go to weekend masses.
But by myself, I am not religious. I put more belief in what I can see and observe than what I cannot full grasp. I think a lot of people are like that now. And it may be sad and it may be wrong, but simply put, that’s how the world currently is.
And yet, despite my head full of logic and heart full of doubts, I find myself kneeling on the wood floor in front of my glass door, eyes lifted towards the midnight sky, searching for things I know I won’t find in the blackness. The tips of towering pine trees rarely register to my eyes as walled-in tears give the world a watery slant. My lips move hurriedly as my desperate words collide with sobbing breaths. Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum...Ave maria, cheia de graca, o Senhor e convosco...Dios de salve, Maria, llene eres de gracia, el Senor est contigo...Je vous de salue, Maria, pleine de grace, Le Seigneur est avec vous...Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you... Latin from Saint Francis, Portugese from my grandmother, Spanish from elementary school, English because its native. I realize my fingers are flying, signing the words I’m letting loose. My thoughts blur and my hands slip over the beads wrapped and woven through my tense fingers. I lose count and realize the numbers don’t matter. The words don’t mean anything to me- the true words are conveyed in my mixed whispers and welling eyes and distraught thoughts.
I abandon the formal prayer and say what I’ve been trying to ask all along. My plea tumbles quietly into the empty air, filling a sky that seems too small to carry the worries of an entire world. Lord... if there is one... please. I don’t do what I should all the time. But she needs you...I want to help....I don’t want to see her crying and screaming and beaten down like this...never let this happen to anyone again...she’s so lost and I’m so scared...why her....why now....how could you....how could they ....please....we’re all so lost.....why didn’t I...why did she..sooner.....now.......help......stop the tears, hers, mine.....how........please....please...
My racing thoughts finally settle down to my main request.
Don’t let her go.

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