Echoes of the Departed
The church was nearly empty when the young man came in from the rain. He sat in the back pew, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The candles near the altar burned low, their light wavering against the stone. An old priest standing nearby had seen that look before. They were the eyes of someone whose soul had turned inward, searching for the one thing he could no longer touch. He did not call out. The priest simply walked to the pew and sat beside him. For a long while, neither spoke. The silence between them felt like a prayer left unfinished. Then the priest cleared his throat and said quietly, “There was once a boy who thought his love could bridge the grave.” The young man lifted his head. “Father?” But the priest wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were far away; in a place the body could leave but the heart never could. “He was a little younger than you,” the priest continued...
