My father prayed his rosary. As the beads went around his hand I drifted back to a time when I was five years old-
I am in bed with my Ava (grandmother in Portuguese,) she is saying the rosary the steady cadence of her voice mixed with the silence of the night is soothing. I fall asleep.
Last night my father’s eyes were heavy as he said his rosary. It has been a few weeks since he was able to thread the beads between his fingers. His strength regains. His breathing was labored. His chest rose and fell steadily as he prayed. After the last decade of the rosary, the last bead, he slowly tried to make the sign of the cross but fell asleep.
My Aunt Ann (my father’s older sister) told me that when my father and her were children, that she would go into his bedroom, climbed into his bed early in the morning, and the two of them would pray side by side. "I wonder who initiated prayer George or I?" She asked me to ask my father if he could remember.
Later when my father woke up I asked him. In his eyes I saw a spark as he recalled the memory… he replied, "The angels."
Angels are you listening?
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