Holy Water

When Ellie was about three months old, we gathered at my father-in-law’s home for the ritual of baptism. My father-in-law, who had died six month’s earlier, most certainly gathered with us and offered blessings and prayers for his granddaughter. Ellie was baptized with waters from the rivers of the Jordan and Blanco. These two bodies of water live and flow far from one another, on separate continents and oceans apart. The Jordan flows through Israel, Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria discharging into the Dead Sea.The Blanco, which begins in Kendall County, Texas, is spring fed and winds through Blanco and Hays counties before it joins the San Marcos River. The mixing and mingling of these waters from the Jordan and Blanco converged in the blessings bestowed upon Ellie’s perfect little head that summer day.

I believe these baptismal waters were holy before they were ever blessed by a priest or minister. All water is holy. 

Water is sacred and necessary for life. Edmond was a serious hydrator and always had a lidded cup of water nearby. When I found the last few sips of water left in a cup by his desk at his office, I drank it. I did the same with the water, almost the same amount, left in his cup in his truck and the one by his beside, too. I drank this holy water that had touched his lips and filled his body. It was the sacred water from his last day. Like the priest who drinks the last drops of wine after communion at the end of Mass, I did not allow one drop to be dishonored. 

Edmond and I soaked up every drop of each other as often as we could. We had a standing Thursday night date that, because of our children’s practices and lessons, sometimes happened on other evenings or during the day. We knew how time worked, especially in the ways it seemed to move too quickly growing children from toddlers to teenagers before our eyes. We were dedicated to each other, but also to this precious time when our children were young, under our roof, and still wanted us around. We thought that after our children became adults, we would have decades together. Our weekly date was practice for our future. 

Today, after I dropped William and Ellie at school, I went to the banks of the Blanco River to honor our date night. I still have it marked on our shared calendar. The reminder pops up on my phone each week. Today was the first time I could keep our date since he died. Although, I have thought of it almost every day, what I would do and where I would go.

I loaded my paddle board in the bed of his truck, and drove to the spot where we used to spend time together with friends and our children. I paddled from the falls to the bend in the river. The bass, trout, catfish, and turtles swam along side me. I was their guest. Two hawks called out as they flew overhead until they reached their nest in the top of a towering cypress tree. Going downstream was easier emotionally. Turning around, to head upstream toward the falls broke my heart. I was filled with sadness going back to the place where I entered the river, where I hoped Edmond would be waiting, knowing he would not be. 

The sky reflected in the water. I could watch the clouds and birds overhead in mirror image. It occurred to me that while the water could hold the sky’s image, the same was not true of the sky with regard to the water. 

I made this trip from the falls to the bend and back three times before I stopped and sat on my board. I watched the water falling over the rocks from three distinct rocky areas. Off to the right, the water came down in small, gentle sheets until it flowed over the shallow rock shelf that ran along the bank. The other two streams of water were divided by higher ground of grass and rocks. Here, on either side of the grassy area, the water tumbled over rocks creating two currents of water. The confluence of these two streams of water met and swirled back on themselves creating a small whirlpool. The waters played in circles and swirls until it became one gentle current that eventually disappeared into the stillness of the deeper water downstream. 

Making my way to the shore, I sat on the ground and watched the water. I want to be that. I want to be that mixing and flowing, Edmond and I, the two of us becoming one so gently and easily like the water. I want to be with him in the stillness of the deeper waters.

I poured a little wine in my aluminum cup, splashing a sip on the ground next to me as an offering. I toasted this moment and us taking a sip. Cheese, crackers, and an apple, it was one version of our favorite simple picnic. After I ate and drank, I laid in the sun for a while with my eyes closed. When I opened them, I noticed that some of the billowing clouds were nearly still and some were moving rapidly in the currents of air. The shifting clouds seemed to be forming a large heart shape, and then another small upside-down heart reflecting the larger one. I laughed out loud. It was funny to me, Edmond playing in the sky where he used to love to fly small airplanes. The sky was indeed reflecting something from below.  

Not fully satisfied with this day date, I went back into the water. In the distance, I saw a white crane flying toward me. It flew gracefully, neck tucked in, wings spread wide. It passed over my head and flew beyond me. I stood there where the water currents met and became one stream. I felt his presence behind me. It was subtle, but there was a comfort that washed over me. There was a stillness, a wholeness in the moving waters. I want to be that again.