Continuing the Work of our Parents' Hands

During his childhood and young adulthood, my father attended St. Benedict’s Church in Bendena, Kansas, which was staffed by priests from St. Benedict’s Abbey in Atchison. Now that I am at the Mount, I realize how thoroughly my dad had absorbed and integrated into his life the Benedictine values of ora et labora (pray and work), humility, and service to others.

Today, September 1, would have been my dad’s 92nd birthday. As I remember him, I find myself meditating on the following quote by Victoria Weinstein in the book Beyond Absence:

There is no need to end our relationship with the dead, for they are still ours. Still ours to struggle with, to learn from, and to love. There is no timeline for grieving them and there is no finitude to loving them. Through time—as long a time as it takes—we take their dream and their issues and integrate them into our own. We make use of whatever hard-won wisdom they were lucky enough to gain while they lived. We continue to forgive them, if forgiveness is called for. We continue the work of their hands.

I cannot continue the watchmaking work of my dad’s hands, but I did write this poem about him, which I offer in his memory.

Movements

My father knew the mysteries of time.

There, at his watchmaker’s bench,

he sat with hairspring balance

and adapting rings,

His days of relying on suspension

extensions and escape pinions

long behind him,

As brass click wheels ticked

and chime rods struck

the half hour.

Serpentine hands circled

on tension springs

and roller staff pins

As he gently nudged

the urgos center wheel

with rosary pliers;

And with his Gruen staff

and crutch plate, he monitored

his grandfather movements.

Now that his time tide

clock is complete, he has

mastered space as well,

Resting lightly

on the balance jewel

of my memories.