Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita,
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
ché la diritta via era smarrita.
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself in a dark forest,
For the straightforward path had been lost.
Dante Alighieri
Saying goodbye to my Saint Peter is always difficult. He is the rock upon which the church sits, and at times, he is my rock, but he is also my friend. I walked so far to get to him. He is my north star, my confidante, my conscience. He is not always kind, but he is always there. He stands quietly in the large square named for him and he holds the keys to heaven gripped in his right hand. He is flanked by the grandeur of the Vatican and he has stood among the millions of tourists and pilgrims who have packed the giant piazza. Ninety six saints watch over my dear Peter from the surrounding colonnade and the tiny, dark, square Sampietrini stones lay at his feet. Upon arriving in Rome, I quickly head to the Vatican to say “Hi,” and before leaving Rome, he is my last stop.
Recently, on a cool clear summer evening, I walked quietly towards him, through the nearly empty square, prepared to say goodbye yet again. A few stars winked and the moon sat low next to the Castel Sant’Angelo. Despite a soft breeze teasing the ends of my hair, the Sampietrini stones still held the day’s warmth beneath my feet. I looked up at Peter, shocked to find myself already saying goodbye.
“How fast time passes!”
“You’re telling me! I’ve watched a couple millennia just slide right by!”
“But Peter, what comes next?” “
Time races.. I can hold my breath, squeeze my eyes shut and stomp the ground, but still, time refuses to yield. I have blinked and 12 years have passed. And I never feel this more than at the start of another school year. Some of my students are going off to college, some are moving onto high school. Others are driving and discovering the joys of the opposite gender. (dear God!) My students are growing up... but am I? Friends are moving quickly through the stages of life; marrying, leaving the city, buying houses in the suburbs and larger cars, having babies and discussions about potty training and parenting methods. And yet, I am digging my heels in. I have no explanation, only questions. I feel so strongly that there is something I should be doing, but no matter how I search, I can’t discover this illusive purpose. And so, like Dante, (only less talented,) I find myself in a dark forest, having lost my way. But I am reminded that without his forest, without his inferno, without his purgatorio, Dante would never have stood in paradise chatting with Peter about faith.
“Peter, will I see you again?” Peter sighs deeply.
“Jen, why don’t we start with the forest…”
I blew him a kiss and walked away.
