Salt

“When you get to the Holy Land, you must not skip the Dead Sea,” I told Sơ Thu.

Sơ Thu was not at all excited about going.
The youngest of 15, she rather spend her two weeks of summer with the dozen-or-more nieces and nephews. Out of duty, she agreed to accompany her sister on a 12-day pilgrimage.

“Thu…I know you wouldn’t like climbing into a bathing suit, but you know the sea is over 75% salt. You’ll practically be floating!”

I don’t swim well and I remember the exhilaration of being lifted gently up.
I could’ve stayed in the sea forever.
10 minutes long. Any more and the salt would strip our skin off.

Salt is what keeps bones from breaking through the absorption of calcium.
Historically, salt was used as money.
Salt was what I tasted as tears cascaded.

Memories engulfed me.
Years in the convent gave me the art of crying without disturbing my neighboring sisters. We were praying the Rosary.
The pain re-lived itself.

The saltiness in my mouth kept me from being swept away.
I steeled my focus on Mary.
I did not want to create a scene.

Mary means “sea of grace.”
Sea has salt.