It brings back two wonderful memories.
As a divorced woman marrying my father, a divorced man, she was shut out of the church. After he died, I was with her, the first time she was able to take communion. Her tear-filled eyes as she walked back from the altar told me all I needed to know about how she felt. I reached up and squeezed her hand.
My second memory was an Easter spent in Argelès with her and we went to Mass in this church. She was fascinated by the dancing statues.
Thus when we walked by the church Saturday and I looked in and saw the statue and the candles, I decided to light a candle for her. "I don't have any money with me," Rick whispered. He knew what I was thinking without me saying a word.
I did.
The candle said how much I loved her, how much I respected her beliefs so different from my own.
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