The foreheads of four men leak beads of sweat as they sway shoulder to shoulder, like a buoy tipping back and forth at the gentle wake of a motorboat. A statue of the Virgin Mary, hands folded at her breast and face resolute yet gentle, towers above them.
         It is May 31^st, the Feast of the Visitation. Joyful songs and the sound of flip-flops echo off of pastel-colored houses as we make our way through the neighborhood.
           
           That evening, I receive a phone call from a seminary classmate. With excitement, I pick up the phone, having not heard from or seen him in over a year. He had just been recently ordained as a deacon, and I was excited to congratulate him.
          “Mike! What a surprise! Congratulations on your ordination. How are you?”
          “Thanks man.” His voice continued like a deflating balloon. “Listen, I have a favor to ask you.”
         “Oh, sure. What’s up?”
         “I have a dear friend, a good Catholic man, with whom I served in the military. He is in your city tonight. I was wondering if you could go see him.”
        “Where is he?”
        “The hospital. Emergency room. He and his family were moving east from California. Just outside of town there, his wife had an accident. He was in the car behind her. Saw the whole thing. They rushed her to the hospital. She didn’t make it. Was pregnant with their fourth. He is alone with his kids.”
        “Oh, Mike…”
 
         I grab my wallet and car keys, mind racing. On my way out the door, a velvet maroon box on my bookshelf catches my eye. In it, a rosary given to me by a couple as a “thank you” to witnessing their vows a few months prior. I grab the box and head out the door.
        The air is humid in the early summer night. I walk at a brisk pace toward the glass door. The click-clack of my cowboy boots resounds off the concrete apron of the ambulance bay. A swarm of bugs crashes into the red emergency sign that buzzes above.
        “I am here to see Tyler and his family.”
        The nurse receptionist looks up at me from her paperwork.
        “Sir, I mean, Father…there is nothing that can be done. His wife is gone.”
        “Her husband is not. Can I go see him?”
        “This way, Father.”
         I touch the rosary beads in my pocket as we make our way down the hall.
        Tyler is crouched over the bed where his wife had lay, his two boys leaning against his side. His little girl, bruised, lies asleep at the foot of the bed.
         I gently walk into the room. Tyler raises his head and his two boys turn with him, rubbing their wearied eyes. They must be about 5 and 7.
        We exchange not a word. I move toward him and open my arms. His strong hands dig into my back. His sobs ring in my ears.
 
         I reach into my pocket and pull out the rosary, the wooden beads a deep red, like the blood pouring from the wounds of Christ when He gave us His Mother. I place it in Tyler’s hand. “You are not alone…your Mother is holding you. She weeps with you. She weeps for you. Keep this.”
His grip tightens. “Oh Father…Father…Father…”  
 
            A nurse walks through the sliding door towards me. Her face is pale white. “Father…can you come? Another family needs you.”
            As I make my way down the hall she explains that a woman’s water had broken a few hours before. It was four months too early and the baby died.
            I make my way into the room and realize that I am in the presence of the couple who had given me the rosary that I had just given away.
           The mother and father are weeping. The husband shakes his head as he holds his wife’s hand.
            “Why Father, why?”
 
            I grab the couple’s hands and begin to pray. “Hail Mary…”