Someone once described saints as
"figures from the Christian past
whose lives have been insufficiently researched."
I don't need research for these folks.
I know many, though not all, of their stories.
(Do we ever truly know all of someones stories?)
None of them were saints
They had feet of clay,
lives with secrets -
most often masking pain -
and the same everyday struggles
we all have.
I loved each one;
not with a 'perfect' love,
but the kind of love that
your view of yourself
I was wounded by some,
loved unconditionally by others
and changed by all.
Their influence in my life hasn't ceased
simply because their breathing has.
Not a day goes by
when they don't cross my mind;
not a week goes by
without seeing some sign
which reminds me
they're still around.
I trust they're in a better realm of reality.
I pray I'll share space with them again,
when all things
are restored to a wholeness
this world cannot provide.
I wouldn't change my relationship with any of them.