Jerry

His name is Jerry. For the life of me, I can't think of his last name.

He's been at my current Church, Holy Trinity in Detroit, very often of late. He shuffles in, a real and honest shuffle which shows his years, and sits over to the side during Mass. Back in the Nineties at old St. Dominic, he and my son Frank split the readings at the 7:30 Sunday morning service. Frank would do the first reading, Jerry the second. It seemed to really please him to share the duties with the youngster.

I remember he used to work in maintenance at nearby Wayne State University.

I've tried a few times to engage him in conversation. I've introduced myself as from St. Dominic and his confused demeanor appears to brighten a bit. I've said I remember him from then, and remind him of how he and Frank used to do the readings. He smiles, remarks things like, "St. Dominic, really?", and we chit chat a bit. I mention others that he would have known, parishioners and priests and such. He shakes his head knowingly, yet I get the impression he doesn't quite grasp who I am or recall the old times particularly well.

I keep an eye out for him now. I try to keep him in my prayers.

His name is Jerry. And I just feel like writing about him this morning.