The Healing Journey

August 19, 2026

Family History

By Brian D. Wallace

My Father, my Father, you hover over us.

You are my face in the mirror
my hands when I lift them out of the sink
the sigh as I clear my throat.

I find you when I gaze through the idle window
Hear the sound of a ball bouncing, a dog barking.

I find you in memory frozen in moments like post cards
from places you never took us to.

You are my sister’s anger, my brother’s confusion,
my mother’s muteness, my anxiety when afternoons
go dusky and settle into something else.

My Father, you hover over our lives, a bantam who could cut,
a saint who could burn and freeze and not be consumed.

A man who emptied himself for us and asked nothing,
but could also take it all back and often did.

My Father, my Father, how difficult you were.
How your woundedness and fire filled us.
How your love was broken like bread and we were the pieces.

(Writer Brian D. Wallace is the former editor of Fairfield County Catholic.)

***