June 23rd, 2020

 

I’m writing this really late at night — It’s around 2am here in Toronto. My eyelids are heavy and at this moment I really miss my family. They’re not that far, but they’re far enough. Time feels so elongated but distance feels so too these days.


I’m not religious anymore, but lately I’ve been trying to remember this prayer that my mother taught me to say every night before I went to bed. By the time I had finished saying it I'd be just about ready to drift off; i’m thinking that maybe remembering it with you will help me sleep tonight as well.


It wasn’t a “Hail Mary” or an “Our Father”. It had no meter and it didn’t rhyme. It was just a handful of sentences that were strung together. I’d pray for the health and safety of my loves ones. I’d pray for my parents to win the lottery. I remember feeling so at peace saying those words, as though I was being listened to, and that saying it would make it real. I always remember it as true faith but I remind myself: To me these days, catholic faith is

painful

uncertain

beautiful

generational

destructive

complicated 


I gradually prayed less and less as I got older, to the point where I can’t recall it at all anymore. During times like these it worries me that I can’t remember. Since leaving home two years ago i’ve always wondered how my family is doing without me and it’s only further been on my mind as this pandemic keeps us apart. But I shake off this anxiety; We’re growing away from each other but I’ll choose to believe that that is not the same as growing apart. Maybe it’s time to make some new prayers. Maybe i’ll give them a call in the morning.