Entering OLF

Michael the limousine driver was making his way back toward the car.  Robin and I along with the rest of the group in the vehicle were shifting around in our seats peering out the windows at the large group of people milling about on Shaw Street in Kingsgrove.  "Surely all these folks can't be here for Geoff's funeral?"  I found myself wondering.  As Michael returned to open the door for our exit I stepped outside into the warm sunshine and started to make my way slowly toward the expansive concrete steps leading to the entry foyer of the church.  Among the many conflicting observations I had was the perception that this was a nice looking group of people, primarily young adults.  They all seemed to be smartly and professionally dressed and as they gathered in small groups were more mindful of a wedding or a graduation ceremony than the somber purpose for which they were drawn together on this beautiful early spring day in Sydney.  I saw some familiar faces and some that, although they were familiar, I hadn't seen in more than 20 years. 

I caught Patsy Healy's eye and approached her to make sure all was in order from her perspective.  She assured me she had everything under control except that she had yet to make contact with the pallbearers.  I found Melissa close by and asked her to round up the young men that were to perform that task and make sure they had their meeting with Patsy in the next few minutes.  Melissa was able to quickly oblige.  I was introduced to Joanne's father, having never met him before, and then a number of other people that I am sure my waning ability to focus due to what lay before me in the next hours causes me now to have some failure of memory.  After 5 or perhaps 10 minutes Patsy approached Robin and me and indicated that it was now time to take our seats in the church as a signal to the rest of the assembled to take theirs.  As we started climbing the steps toward the expansive entry doors I observed the activity just inside.  There were two separate places where attendees could sign the remembrance books that were in evidence.  Members of the WN Bull staff were handing out copies of the booklet that Melissa and Jo had prepared and one was placed in my hand and another in Robin's.  I rolled my copy into a tube without looking at it and held it like a baton in a relay race as I robotically stepped forward.

With no hesitation I entered the vestibule of Our Lady of Fatima.  Directly in front of me was a large vessel, perhaps 4 feet tall,  permanently affixed to the marble floor holding what the Catholic's refer to as holy water.  Traditionally, when entering the church, the faithful lightly dip their fingers into the water and then make the sign of the cross as a way of blessing themselves.  This vessel is also used as the fountain where the ceremony of baptism into the Catholic Faith is performed.  As I walked through the vestibule of Our Lady of Fatima directly toward the font I was struck with the realization that his was exactly the spot where Geoffrey had been baptised 26 years earlier.  That moment of awareness took my breath away.