After driving past the local Catholic church, I begin to think about the process of confession.  I have heard that they call it "reconciliation" these days.  I have also heard that some churches don’t even use the screens anymore.  What’s up with that?! 

I don’t know if I could handle watching the priest’s face as I list off my bad choices in life.  I have found much comfort hiding behind the safety screen.  Without the screen, I would have to have an invisible priest so that I could not see the reaction on his face when I spoke.  Better yet, I would like an imaginary priest who could take my confession right now.

If that was possible, what I would say?  Of course I would begin in the usual way.  Well, I’m not really sure if it is the "usual" way anymore.  It seems that a lot has changed over the years.  Regardless, I would begin like this:

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned." 

"It has been…MANY years since my last confession." *deep breath*

Okay, now is the part where I am to list my sins.  I think hard.  Surely in 15-20 years there ought to be quite a list of sins to confess.  But my list is short. 

"I failed to recognize cancer in my husband until it was too late."

"I sometimes have angry thoughts towards myself and others."

"I surf the Internet on work time."

"I am less patient with others [such as the IDIOT driver ahead of me]."

This is where my list ends. 

I remember being a little girl and waiting for my turn in the little closet sized room.  In my head I would go through my list of "sins" that I had committed in the prior days.  I used to be able to come up with a minimum of 3 things back then.  That was only in a week’s time.  Of course, it always seemed to be the same list.  Perhaps saying X number of Our Fathers and X number of Hail Mary’s wasn’t doing the trick.  More likely, it was my list of sins.

"I jumped on the bed when my mother told me not to."

"I hit my brother…but he hit me first."

"I licked the frosting off of Big Sis’ birthday cake and then lied about it."

Perhaps they weren’t really "sins" at all.

Today, my imaginary priest is left perplexed.  He is thinking that in this amount of life much more damage should have occurred.  I agree.  I am far from perfect. 

I think for a minute, and then said, "No.  That is all."

Sure, there were things that needed to be considered and evaluated.  In the end, I brushed them off as not being sins at all.  *sigh* It is time to get up with times.  Gone are the days of making up your list of sins.

My priest instructed me to pray one round of the rosary.  [I think that I remember how to do that properly.]

Each morning, I enter my office and stare at your photograph while my computer starts up. “Good Morning Dear,” I think, with fond affection. Sometimes, I even say it out loud. There isn’t much left you now that you have died just these photographs and a few memories.

I imagine you lying beside me in bed now. I roll over to give you a kiss. We ignore the morning breath that has developed overnight, and steal away a few moments to embrace before the day urges us to move on.

In the photo, you smile at me as your stand proudly beside our children. It’s as if to say, look at these gifts that I give to you. Our children are products of 21 years of loving each other. They are indeed “gifts.” I can’t help but see YOU each time I look at them. I only wish that you were here with us still. We miss you so.

My mornings are very different now. Instead of you, I now wake to find our youngest boy asleep in your spot. Yes, he is still sleeping in your spot, only now he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing you growl at him for doing so. Those were the days; I can almost here him giggling at you in defiance.

Sometimes I think back to the last time that we made love. You were so weak then, and still you were willing. Although we had no idea that you would be gone in just a couple of weeks, I remember crying in your arms just knowing that our time was limited. It’s been more than a year now, and I long to kiss your lips, to stare into those blue eyes of yours, and to hear you say “I love you.” I long for it, yet I know that I can never have it again.

Since my last post, B called me to say that he had received my gift. He confessed that he had sold my iPod just prior to moving. I didn’t ask what he got in return for it. I am afraid to know.

After his confession, he launched into 45 minutes of professing that he was now changed. He asked to be able to come home to live with us at the end of the summer so that he could return to his high school and play football. I said “no” – over and over, I had to say it. He just didn’t seem to take “no” for an answer. When it was clear that there would be no logical breaking point in the call, I ended myself. I told him that I was exhausted and that I just couldn’t take any more that night.

He didn’t call back for days. Then ,on Saturday, our home answering machine had a message stating that he’d lost his cellular phone. I disconnected his service immediately and did not arrange to send a replacement phone. I called the house and spoke with his uncle and aunt for over an hour, but I haven’t heard from B.

My son and I are now dis-connected. I wonder how we got to this point in our relationship. We used to be so close. He was my everything for so long. In the morning, I open my eyes to find Ronin, our BIG flat-coat retriever pup, staring at me. Often I will close my eyes again and delay eye contact, thus remaining disconnected from his doggie demands of the morning. A few minutes later, I open my eyes to see him patiently waiting. His eyes are deep brown in color and, when I stare back into them, I feel something more than just a dog waiting to pee, eat, and play. In Ronin’s eyes I am reminded of the notion of “unconditional love.” In his eyes is the reminder that, in spite of all the pain that a mother and son inflict upon eachother, that the unconditional love WILL pull through. It’s there – deep, deep, deep inside each of us…and, in our case, separated by an ocean.