First and foremost, I want to thank all of you for your support.
This little site is not meant for the whole world. It is for my brothers, and for a few trusted people who are willing to walk with me through this part of the road. Your comments, prayers, and support mean more than you probably know.
I always hoped I would never find myself on a spiritual journey like this. I hoped I would never be in a place where I was doubting my faith the way I am right now. But life has been eventful these past few years, and that is putting it mildly.
There have been surgeries, cancer, illness, grief, and the long slow ache of watching life change around me.
One of the hardest losses was Gizmo.
He started getting sick years ago. After a lot of testing, money, worry, and hope, we found out he had cancer. He reached the point where he could hardly hear, was almost completely blind, and was suffering. And yet, not once did he stop showing unconditional love to me, Mom, and Wayne.
He grew up with me from a tiny puppy. In a way, he was my support animal before I ever had words for that. I envied the way he loved. I still try to imitate it. I always felt the Spirit of the Lord in him. Truly, not a day goes by that I do not think about him, and sometimes I still break down from missing him.
After that, things here in New Mexico seemed to go sideways.
I had to have a nerve moved in my arm. I have had more upper and lower GI scopes than I can count. At a certain point, they ought to offer a kiss and dinner before all that. I had bladder cancer and needed surgery. I had a Nissen surgery on my stomach. Then they found a pretty good-sized ulcer. I have dealt with GERD for most of my life.
I love this little area where we live. It has almost everything, except, apparently, specialists. Most offices around here are run by nurse practitioners, and honestly, in my opinion, they often give better care than doctors. Mom had to have both knees and a hip done, one surgery a year.
Sometimes it feels like we moved here to die.
And yet, it has not all been misery. We plant. We garden. We take care of the house. We laugh. We make things grow. There has been happiness here too. But I swear, every good thing seems to arrive with something painful tied to it.
The one constant was the Order and my habit.
Then Wayne got sick. End-stage COPD. A mass in his lung they could not operate on. Watching him die was brutal. We were not always close, but we loved each other, and I was shocked by how much it hurt. Watching Mom go through it was heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. She loved him unconditionally. She cared for him hand and foot. She wiped him, changed him, cleaned him, stayed with him, and served him with a love that was hard and holy.
During that time, I did most of the cooking and cleaning and tried to keep the house going.
Now it is just Mom and me, along with our loving pain-in-the-ass dog, Scarlett. We love that dog. We cling to her. She is our therapy dog, especially for Mom. She comforts, plays, acts nuts, and tries to use me as a chew toy. I love every minute of it.
I feel bad because Mom wants Scarlett to have a friend, but I push back. Not because I do not love animals, but because the responsibility would fall on me. And if anything happened where I had to surrender an animal, it would absolutely kill me. I cannot do it. If I were homeless, my animal would be right beside me.
Now we have to move, so we are cleaning out the house and going through Wayne’s things. That man had more stuff than I can explain. It used to drive me crazy when Mom would buy him expensive gifts, things he said he wanted, and he would use them for a few days and then never touch them again.
Now I have to sort through it all, including his weed, pipes, and everything else. Some of it may end up infused into cheese. Lord have mercy, and yes, I laughed typing that.
When I talk about cannabis as a brother and priest, people sometimes look at me with their mouths hanging open. I explain that it is an amazing and useful plant. It helps me with pain, sleep, and anxiety. I do not abuse it or use it in a purely recreational way. But yes, I am very grateful it is legal here.
I think I am going to take this journey and write it into a book, or something like it. I believe this kind of honesty might help someone else who finds themselves where I am now.
Because right now, I have lost patience.
I have lost patience with people.
I have lost patience with myself.
I have even lost patience with God.
Prayer feels like it falls on deaf ears. Talking to Him feels like speaking into stone.
The Holy Mother is different. I talk to her many times a day. She answers, but in a mother’s way. Quietly. Gently. Not always with explanations, but with presence.
I stopped doing the Eucharist because I believe it is one of the most reverent and important things in the world. The thought of doing anything that would cheapen it horrifies me. Anything that makes it seem like empty motions sickens me.
I am dry.
I am tired.
I have fallen apart, and spiritually, I do not feel anyone picking up the pieces.
Not hearing God’s voice hurts me in a way not even the Church could hurt me.
I will not celebrate Mass or partake of the Host if my heart is in this place. I do not want to cheapen what is holy.
I want to be back in the fold.
I want to do what I am called to do.
But right now, I feel like I am getting nowhere. I am trying not to lose my fight for all of this.
Sometimes I wish I could be placed in an old anchorite cell in a church. Push food through the wall. Let me pray in silence. Wall me up when I die.
I talk to plants and trees.
I talk to the grass and the roses.
I talk to the animals.
I talk to Mom.
I talk to myself.
I do not talk to God anymore.