Prayer

I buried a son today.

Mister was a good man. You, the giver and taker of life, the source of darkness and light, you know I speak the truth. He was a good man.

Last night I woke to the sound of thunder. I loved the anger of the skies and the blessings that it brings. The light was wonderful and strange. I opened the window, and let the rain pour in, so cool against my skin. I wrapped myself around the curtains. I danced a waltz and cried for all my losses.

My men are gone. My Sam. My son.

Your cruelty is greater than I ever thought. I’m told your love is greater. I’ll soon find out.

I stood there in the rain, and when it stopped, I wandered through my house. So big, this house. Too big for only me. I found a poem I never finished. I’d placed it in a book Sam loved to read. Two lines, was all I ever wrote:

For years I’ve dreamed your eyes as black as night

I long to see your face in perfect light.

Not a poem at all, a couplet. I finally understand. I’ve been in love with being my Sam’s widow. Endiosada. You know that word.

I won’t play the widow anymore.

I loved my Sam.

And loved my son.

You know that boy, Vicente? If Liz won’t bring him home, I will. I intend to bring him home. I intend to raise him. I intend to finish what my son has started.

You know what’s in my heart.

And now you know that I intend to live.

And one more thing. Forgive me. For Liz—for the way that I misjudged her.