March 15, 1994
"There is no greater grief than to remember happiness, to remember days of joy when misery is at hand." Dante
The first time I came I was a sophomore in college and it was love at first sight. It is uniquely different from most of Florida - it is old and historic, it has charm and beauty. What I like best are the Old Town and Bayfront areas and the clacking sounds of the horse drawn carriages.
There is here, a homeless man who collects aluminum cans and pushes a shopping cart everywhere he goes. To me the cart is full of junk, but to him it contains all of his most prized possessions. Every morning he pushes his cart down the sidewalk and leaves it in the Cathedral's courtyard while he goes to Mass. And every morning I leave him a bag of my empty Budweiser cans.
He looks like Santa Claus. He has sparkling eyes, a warm crimson face, a glowing smile and a huge white beard. Maybe he is Santa Claus, down here on spring break - or maybe he's God, taking a break from His heavenly chores, escaping to Florida to get away from the demand of so many earthly prayers. Maybe he's me if I were to live to be sixty-four.
And odd fact about me and Saint Augustine - I've been here many times, Mimi and I came here a few times - Mary and I came twice. Driving Deb's car back and forth from Key West, I would stop here. Yet Maggie and I never came here together.
I write this at the Chapel of Our Lady of LaLeche at Nombre De Dios at the Great Cross. When I was in college I used to come here just to read. The Chapel is in the middle of an old cemetery and is one of the quietest, most peaceful places I have ever been. I prayed here decades ago, I prayed here last December and I prayed here today. If there is such a place as the most perfect place in which to be buried, it is here - buried beneath Spanish moss.
Writing this journal has been good therapy, particularly today, for I am at peace as I sit and write. My problems forgotten, my life peaceful, my eyes dry of tears. Part of me will be forever here. I hope the prayers I said today are heard and put on prayer waiting. Maybe the old homeless man is God - and maybe some morning at Mass He will come over to me, hug me and say, "Son, your faith has healed you, go in peace."
I have memories here, happy memories that make me feel oh so sad. Why does the remembrance of days of joy bring grief when misery is at hand? Because the memories of happiness are gone forever.
Two months from today I die.
1:30pm - Nombre De Dios - Saint Augustine, Florida
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