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.