One Body

My family is Catholic, but I am not. While my husband takes the kids to be blessed as he celebrates the eucharist, I peoplewatch the shufflers:

The woman, not much older than my parents, rocks as she walks, unsteady perhaps with the curse of some muscle degenerating disease. The man behind her holds his hands open, as in prayer, just below her elbows. She stumbles; he catches her lightly; they keep moving with the line. She pauses to take communion, then moves two steps out of the way. He takes communion, then resumes his post behind her. With no visible communication between the two, they move on, together again, as one.


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