A Special Thursday

I apologize to those of you who have read this before. I’ve actually posted it two other times . . . for sentimental reasons. Thank you for indulging me. Happy Easter to those celebrating and have a great weekend everyone.

Some people might remember their passed-away loved ones, on special days like their birthday, or on the day they died. I tend to remember my Grandma on this Thursday every year. It’s not her birthday which is September 13th, nor is it the day she died, December 4th.  It’s also not this date, April 13th, that has any significance. It is today … a Holy day … the Thursday before Easter, that always brings back sweet memories of my Grandma.

Grandma was a devout Catholic. You could find rosary beads and statues of saints around her home. I am not a devout Catholic like her, but I am devout in my spirituality. Experiencing Grandma’s faith with her was something I cherished.

These hung on the wall to her bedroom.

Holy Thursday is special to me because it was “our day.” On Holy Thursday, when I was a child, Grandma used to take me from church to church to light candles and pray. I remember how she told me that when you walk into a church you’ve never been to before, you get to make a wish and it will come true. Would you believe that many of those wishes I made came true?

When I was around nine-years-old, I used to ogle a statue on her bedroom dresser. It looked like a beautiful little girl, but Grandma said it was a boy. He wore a sparkling robe which glistened in my pupils. Grandma knew how much I loved him, and she bought me one the very same for my dresser at home. She said, “Now Lori, you put him in a place on your dresser where he faces your bedroom door. Every time you enter, he blesses you with protection. He will always protect you from harm.”

To this day, forty years later, the Infant of Prague faces my bedroom door. The robed little boy is the baby Jesus. The historical significance to the Infant of Prague dates back to the 14th century.

I can still envision some of those churches we visited in my mind’s eye. Some altars ornate, some simple. Some with stained glass windows of angels or stations of the cross. One of them had a little grotto built inside, a replica of the Lourdes grotto where Bernadette saw an apparition of the Blessed Virgin.

In Grandma’s home after she died, I found a book of Catholic prayers, or epistles she used to say. Would you believe that when I took it out of the drawer, it fell open to this page with a photo of a little girl inside? Guess who? Yep, Gram and I had a connection. I don’t mean for this post to be about religion, but about how this day always reminds me of a great blessing I had in my life for twenty-eight years.

There are more stories about my grandma’s vivacious, catching personality in my short stories in the memoir anthology, Home Avenue.

Is there anything unique that reminds you of someone you love?

 

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