ich heiße

Thursday, 21 September 2017, this morning I’m thinking of family. Truth, I’m always, nearly always, thinking of family. Later this morning Betty’s funeral, my sister-in-law, my brother’s wife, Walt’s wife. Death has confronted me in the past, often as priest and pastor, classmate, friend. First as grandson, and later. Time to time as nephew, cousin, twice as son. Wishing you long years. 

Me: who am I? Who am I? Wie heiße ich? Depends entirely on who you are, and our relationship, but variously, Bubba, Carroll, Tom, Dad, Commander, Mister, Father Tom, Papa, Uncle Bubba, maybe more or less in that chronology though not necessarily in that ascension. Heute, today, I’m brother, ich heiße Bubba, as it was in the beginning, is now.

All is not as it seems though. I’m not necessarily what I’m called. There’s someone, something, some thing inside peering out, someone whose name I don’t know, watching the clock, shaking bars, looking at the clock again, and the sun, the calendar. What year is it, am I? What else is there? Did I miss anything? I don’t know.

DThos+