Friday 27 March 2026
I arrived at the early Mass grumbling about a splinter. Not the one in my neighbour’s eye, but the one in my hand. One of seven I’d inflicted on myself while throwing logs on the fire. I’d pulled out six. The seventh, sore and starting to glow red, was staying put.
It remained a splinter right up to the point it turned into a plank when I heard the news that a fellow parishioner J, had died.
J was known to everyone.
By all accounts, she had been a woman of strong will. What I will remember is an elderly woman of strong voice. Literally. It was a loud, very flat baritone, which jarred occasionally, but also led those of us still learning the various prayers and antiphons. As a new Catholic, I leaned on her a lot, reciting words on a fractional delay, from my seat at the back.
She was known to me.
She had also been the first Catholic I’d encountered, more than a year ago now, on my first trips into the church when I thought there would be no one else there. She smiled at me as she finished her daily rosary, and as I sat trying to discern whether to join the Catholic church.
And she was known to God.
Devout to the end. She had been waiting to go to heaven for months as her health deteriorated. She finally got her with the day before.
May perpetual light shine upon her, and may she rest in peace.