September 29, 1994
Feast of Saint Michael
"Saint Michael, Archangel, defend me in this day of battle, protect me against the wickedness and snares of the devil."
Prayer of Saint Michael
From my very first day of school at Saint Gregory's in Boston when I was five years old until my last day their eight years later, every morning began with the recitation of the prayer to Saint Michael - and I've been saying it every morning since, for the Sister of Notre Dame taught me well. From the time I first learned this prayer, I have looked upon Saint Michael as my guardian and protector. He has always been there for me but I am always letting him down, by ignoring the advice of my good conscience and allowing myself to snared by the devil's wickedness, choosing evil over good, such are my weaknesses.
Fifteen years ago today, Mary and I woke-up in the Milltown Guest House in Dingle, it was the last day of our trip to Ireland. That morning we watched TV as Pope John II arrived in Dublin and that afternoon we were at Shannon Airport and boarded the Saint Patrick, an Aer Lingus 747, for our trip back to Boston. It was the same plane that had flown the Pope from Rome to Dublin a few hours earlier.
As the plane approached the runway, I noticed hundreds of people along the fence bordering the runway - they were waving small Papal and Irish flags. As the plane sped down the runway I saw hundreds and hundreds of more people all along the fence waving their small flags. The Pope was a few hundred miles away and these people, unable to get to Dublin, came to Shannon Airport to see and wave at the plane that brought Pope to their mystic shores. It was a splendid and surreal sight, one I'll never forget.
Fifteen years have passed since that first trip to Ireland and I can still recall each day of that visit. Much as happened to me since then. I have had different jobs, met different women, moved to different homes, married and divorced, have grown older but not wiser. But what hasn't changed, what remains the same, is my devotion to Saint Michael. He is the only constant in my life.
On Saturday morning Casey is coming down for the weekend, it will just be the two of us here. Before I drive him home on Sunday afternoon, I'm going to have him raise my father's flag to full staff. I'll take some pictures and will probably shed a few tears as I give my father one last salute.
Four weeks have passed since I mailed Maggie a copy of my father's obituary - still no call or card of sympathy, no words that say, "You're in my prayers." She has become a bitch, a cold heartless witch.
So, Saint Michael, "cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl the world seeking the ruin and destruction of souls" - particularly mine.
6:30pm - My Parents Cottage - Sandwich, MA
contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com
Fifteen years ago today, Mary and I woke-up in the Milltown Guest House in Dingle, it was the last day of our trip to Ireland. That morning we watched TV as Pope John II arrived in Dublin and that afternoon we were at Shannon Airport and boarded the Saint Patrick, an Aer Lingus 747, for our trip back to Boston. It was the same plane that had flown the Pope from Rome to Dublin a few hours earlier.
As the plane approached the runway, I noticed hundreds of people along the fence bordering the runway - they were waving small Papal and Irish flags. As the plane sped down the runway I saw hundreds and hundreds of more people all along the fence waving their small flags. The Pope was a few hundred miles away and these people, unable to get to Dublin, came to Shannon Airport to see and wave at the plane that brought Pope to their mystic shores. It was a splendid and surreal sight, one I'll never forget.
Fifteen years have passed since that first trip to Ireland and I can still recall each day of that visit. Much as happened to me since then. I have had different jobs, met different women, moved to different homes, married and divorced, have grown older but not wiser. But what hasn't changed, what remains the same, is my devotion to Saint Michael. He is the only constant in my life.
On Saturday morning Casey is coming down for the weekend, it will just be the two of us here. Before I drive him home on Sunday afternoon, I'm going to have him raise my father's flag to full staff. I'll take some pictures and will probably shed a few tears as I give my father one last salute.
Four weeks have passed since I mailed Maggie a copy of my father's obituary - still no call or card of sympathy, no words that say, "You're in my prayers." She has become a bitch, a cold heartless witch.
So, Saint Michael, "cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl the world seeking the ruin and destruction of souls" - particularly mine.
6:30pm - My Parents Cottage - Sandwich, MA
contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com
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