Roses For Teri

I have been OBSESSED with roses this week. Rose milk, rose scent, rose colors, roses in my art, rose jelly, etc.

I've been hell bent on pulling together a collage that centers around the Blessed Mother, who is often portrayed with roses.

And today I found out why.

I received an email with the subject line of "roses". I nearly deleted it, thinking it was a male enhancement ad when I noticed the word Camino in the middle of the first sentence. It was "my Jerry". (Really Gerry, but I didn't know that until today.)

Gerry walked mornings with me on the Camino. In the barely light of day. I'd get started and voila' he'd waltz up behind me. We'd walk together for a bit and his 6-foot stride would carry him off toward the sunrise. He loved roses. We stopped and smelled all the roses along the trail. I'd see him again in the evening. Rinse and repeat the next morning.

I loved his Irish accent - it was tinkly music to my ears. The last time I saw him was as he escorted me to the church in Granon. It was the morning that I learned my brother had died. Gerry stayed with me longer than usual. And only when he knew I was in a good place, did he go on. Before he left, he hugged me tight and pressed a prayer card with a picture of Mary and Jesus in my hand. The prayer is in French.

I didn't have an email address for him. I'd given him a footprint pin, but I didn't know if it made the journey or not (it had my email on the card). I asked all the people I walked with if they had information about him. I asked Denise, my Irish pilgrim friend if she knew of him. She contacted every Irish pilgrim she knew. I contacted the Irish Confraternity and they couldn't pick him out.

The roses. It is all about the roses. Thank you Mary. Thank you Gerry.