I LOOK AT MY WATCH and realize I have just enough time to check in at the rectory before I have to prepare for Noon Mass. It takes me about ten `
Daffodils are Helen’s favorite flower, and I make a note to . . . do what exactly? Have some sent to her office? No, I can’t do that. It’s not appropriate, especially considering our Lenten agreements. Maybe after Easter, but even then, dare I do something that could be misinterpreted by someone?
I walk along with a growing sense of frustration. I’m frustrated that we still have to worry about what people think. I’m frustrated that I can’t shout how much I love her from the rooftops. I’m frustrated that I can’t hold her in my arms for more than three seconds. I’m frustrated that I’ll never feel her lips against mine again. I’m frustrated that I
