Monseñor Romero

Today is Día de los Muertos. I took the children to visit Father Bill.

As usual we shared chocolate and pan de muerto. We poured a lot of

chocolate on his piece of bread and the ground around his grave

swallowed greedily. We could have poured a river. When father Bill

died a river, each tear like no other. I cried for each sister and brother,

for the ones who were children and for the ones who were grown. I

cried for me. I cried for you. I cried for my children, for things they

know nothing about. War leaves no time for grieving. My right to

mourn came with Father’s Bill’s fall. At first glance the US and El

Salvador have nothing in common. Then time revealed the violence of

poverty, the violence of drugs, the violence of guns and like Monseñor

said, the violence of love.