We hear the word soul all the time in many ways.
Soul mate. Rubber soul (if you grew up with the Beatles). Soul music. Tortured soul. Selling your soul. Heart and soul. Soul sisters and soul brothers. Soul Train. You have no soul. You are my soul.
When I was a little girl, I would visualize my immortal soul as a white bar of soap with wings attached on the sides, flying to heaven. Thank you, Sister Marie Agnes.
In the Roman Catholic tradition, we celebrated All Souls Day this week. We remember the dead. We pray for them and for ourselves. Some years, it was exquisitely painful for me to remember the dead, like the year my parents died. Sometimes it was more about remembering the living … friends who lost family … family who lost friends.
I believe that the soul is the most cherished and perfect part of us. It is our true self, unfettered by life and made perfect by faith, hope and the love of our Creator.
This year, as always, I will try my best to honor all the souls who have touched my life. Their physical presence is no longer here, but their soul and their memories remain steadfast and tethered to my heart. This is for Mom and Dad, Pop, Grace, Ruthie, Adele, Fredrick. Uncle Buddy and Aunt Pat. Uncle Eddie. Carey, and all the unborn souls of my family. Ed, Brian and Sue. Bill, Martha and Bill. Hanora and Patrick. Edna Rose. Mary and Alan. Mike. Rich. Kathy’s dad. Mary Anne’s dad. Ruth. Cay. Jim, Gene, Lewis, Alice, Jean and Greg.
I will remember.
I hope you do, too.