‘Faith in the water’
As a kid, my grandfather picked me up every day after kindergarten...
Trying to get closer to what he was missing
My grandfather would take me fishing, at Buckingham pond.
It was therapy for the both of us.
He wondered as I wandered.
Humming along the shore.
As I waited for him to bait my hook
I would curiously look out to the water.
Surely there was something worth catching, I thought.
Something great!
Maybe even something bigger than me.
Why else would fisherman wait...for so long?
And be so patient.
Persistent.
Cast after cast.
Each one with equal faith.
There must be something under there...but at the time I couldn’t see.
Blinded with naivety.
And so was my grandfather.
All of that wisdom
And years of casting
Even he couldn’t say for sure.
We’d sit quietly for hours
That is, always after we dropped off flowers at her grave.
Fishing to me,
Is about being brave.
I couldn’t help but think about where she went.
(Time well spent)
Day after day, as my grandfather and I made our way over to the pond.
Sometimes the rain
Would attempt to deter us
Yet through the pain,
We’d still fish.
After hundreds and hundreds of casts.
I finally asked...
Grandpa, what’s in the water?
He told me,
To find out, you just have to keep casting.
Today I find myself asking the same question,
What is in the water?
Cloudy eyes
I think he hoped he’d catch his daughter—
My mother, Marie.
But all these years later, I still can only see...the surface.
All I can do is cast with purpose—
Knowing that there is no certitude
Though that’s not the catch...
Maybe...the water is murky for a reason.
Maybe the water is murky for a reason.
Because if you could see to the bottom, everyone would fish.
So my only wish is that we all catch what we pray for.
Something we cannot see.
Yet deep down,
We hope is there.
So I think I’ll keep casting...
With everlasting faith in the water.
J.T. CONDE 