Por Una Cabeza

A Hajj is one of the 5 pillars of Islam and is the pilgrimage made to Mecca, at least once in a Muslim's life (of those who are able). Before and during the pilgrim's time at Mecca, an entire set of rituals are preformed that I am not going to pretend to know anything about.

Sometime late in morning on Friday, I placed my hand of the tomb of San Antonio de Padua. It's been a little bit since I have cried that much ("There's no crying in baseball").

I am not Catholic, and on my very short list of universal dislikes, "posers" sits pretty high up. More importantly, I take the Ten Commandments to heart (they seem pretty legit, right?) and staunchly believe in the worship of God and God alone.

As my hand touched the light marble, the culmination of what brought me to that moment - a 23 year old, well-intentioned but often asinine, 2nd year Naturopathic medical student, daughter of Blanca & Ed, sister to Bianca & Ed - to the tomb of a man who died 800 years ago in Padua, Italy, was much more than I could/can handle.

Saint Anthony was a common household name growing up. His celebration day (date o' death), June 13, was a minor holiday that always got special mention and thus 13 is, not by choice but by tradition, one of my 2 lucky numbers.

Standing there in a line going pilgrim slow, I just wanted to be good. Not good enough, not better, not good for something, but GOOD.

Again, I won't pretend to know, but I imagine those on their Hajj might feel something similar.

I sat down in one of the cloisters along the walls facing his tomb and watched the nun I will never be, the sinner that I am, and the spouse and baby that I want, pray...

and then file by.