To dust you shall return.

It’s Ash Wednesday, and my Dad is still in the hospital. We didn’t think it likely that they’d have matches lying around the recovery wing (much less last year’s dried palm leaves), so we texted Pam. She brought three burned matches in a plastic baggie. I crushed the tips and then poured the grit into my palm, which we daubed our fingers in and anointed each other in a circle: Dad did me, I did Pam, Pam did Dad. We used the words Dad wrote down in a notebook: Pulvis es, et in pulverem reveretere. Thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.

The ashes are almost invisible on my forehead now. Snowflakes are swirling outside my window. Dad is in good hands, being transferred to a rehab facility where he can do some physical therapy before the next step. What’s the next step?…that’s a big question my family is figuring out right now. Your prayers, love, and good wishes are most welcome.

~

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