What's his name?

By BERNADETTE BONANNO- | Comments: 0 | Leave a comment

Memory lapse is a familiar predicament these days. Yellow sticky notes adorn my desk at work and my microwave at home.

Although I may not recall his name, I still remember the one-piece blue denim jumpsuit I wore in anticipation of meeting him. It fit me like a glove and I was convinced that once What's-His-Name laid eyes on me, he would be irreversibly smitten.

My late Uncle Gabe, a de la Salle Christian Brother, had been asking me to go on a weekend retreat sponsored by Sacred Heart High School in Yonkers. At 17 years old, a weekend retreat was not on the top of my list of things to do. So, I made excuses and avoided the subject until one day, while visiting Sacred Heart, I spied What's-His-Name.

Uncle Gabe must have sensed my new love interest and decided to broach the retreat idea one last time, while conveniently mentioning the fact that What's-His-Name would be attending.

My adversity to spending a weekend growing my faith dissipated instantly. I ran over to my friend Lori's house and rummaged through her closet to find the perfect outfit to wear, and there it was: the blue denim jumpsuit.

The theme of the retreat was, "What the Bible Says About the Love of God." Surprisingly, I quickly lost all interest in What's-His-Name and became engrossed in the Scripture, music and meditations shared by the retreat leaders.

I'd never tapped into this incredible love; I found it a bit overwhelming. I cried the entire weekend and walked around with puffy eyes.

The retreat leaders joked, "You're just like your uncle." That seemed strange, as I had never seen my sweet Uncle Gabe cry.

That weekend made known to me that love covers a multitude of sins, and blessed me with compassion for people who carried the heavy burden of guilt.

Over the years, I've discovered that, in addition to the great works and words of the prophets, they were often human and made a few poor decisions, as well. Yet, God chose them.

Each morning, before getting out of bed, I have a brief ritual I follow: I kneel down on my knobby knees and place my hands on top of my disorderly bed linens. I close my eyes, thank God for another day and ask Him to bless my efforts.

Then I wait a minute before I get up and get going. It reminds me that each day dawns brand new.

I wonder whatever happened to What's-His-Name. I am grateful for the amusing yet significant role he played in my life. He's probably like me: going grey and trying to figure things out, with yellow sticky notes adorning his microwave and desk.

(Bernadette Bonanno attends St. Mary's Church in Albany.)[[In-content Ad]]