life in the darkness

In the airport, we were in wheelchairs and being guided toward the plane. A Bowing 737. After about an hour waiting to get everyone onboard, we were off. The plane went up, leaving the lights of Liverpool and over the sea, towards France.

Upon arrival in Lourdes, I was guided into a wheelchair. It had 2 wheels. The French customs officer asked: You going hospital? What? No! Erm, no. I was told the saint frai! Help! Rescue me! I’m going to the wrong place! Where is everyone? I can’t hear them! I was on my own, in a wheelchair, and being taken to the wrong place! Or so I thought. The coach drove off. The tiredness getting the better of me, I fell into a somewhat deep sleep. The engine making its monotonous noise, it wended its way through the narrow streets of Lourdes and pulled up at the Saint Frai. A huge facade with an arched roof and very high canopy. A modern building inside though, with lifts going to the upper floors, with a huge circular atrium on each one. By now, I was in the lift and being taken upstairs. The familiar hospital smell all around me. Voices all around me, then the electric doors opened and I was wheeled out into a large corridor with rooms on either side and a circular balcony on each side, seperating the corridors from each other.

A ward came into focus as my ears told me I’d been brought to a very large, but rectangular room just like a hospital ward. Beds on both sides, a shower cubicle, or room on both sides too and toilet rooms next to them. The beds were as I expected, like hospital ones. The table with wheels next to it spanning the bottom of the bed, with a cabenet and dresser with a wardrobe next to the pillow end. I was helped to unpack and my stuff put away, I sat on the familiar matress. Waiting for the meal time, I ended up falling asleep.

Excuse me, I mumbled. A lady came up to me. Hello Sam. She said. Are you awake? I said yes. Is it time for tea? When am I allowed a cup of tea? Or do I have to wait until the meal time? No no! She said, I’ll get you a cupper.

Later, I’d begun to realise, this place had no rules. It wasn’t a hospital, but a hotel designed for disabled and assisted pilgrims.

Tea time arrivedand I was guided to the dining room. I sat down and began to cry. I had no idea why I was crying, or what I was crying for. When I’d calmed myself and regained my composure, I began to eat.

Later on, I started to come out of my shell then mixing with people, but burst into tears a few times.

The next morning, we were up bright and early. Mornings in the saintFrai I began to realise, were chaotic and quite organised. You were woken at about 05:30 or there abouts, maybe even 6:30 some days. You were given a morning drink, in my case, a cup of guess what? Tea. After that, you were all assisted with showers if you needed one then after that, taken to breakfast. You had to be rather quick at eating, as after that, you had a little time to make sure you had everything for that day. Sun cream on, your bag that you were given for the week to bring to mass, which included your stuff, for me, my phone, my recording device, euros and a bottle of water which we were given when leaving the building. Leaving the building was again, another organised routine. Everyone was put into their chairs and lined up at the lifts to be brought downstairs to the main entrance. We were then met by the youth team, wearing yellow polo shirts, to bring us down to the mass or where ever we were going that day.

Heading off to mass, we were wheeled off down the narrow streets toward the sanctuary. That meant about 20 or 30 chairs were being pushed down one pathway, which wound its way down the narrow streets. Past cafes, bars, shops which played Ave Maria with the doors open allowing people to enter and get souvenirs should they wish. The path then opened, leading into the square, which housed the basilicas and the tunnel into the underground basilica. At the other side, taps for getting water and a bridge which took you across to the other side of the square.

That Saturday afternoon, it was time for the blessed sacrament procession, which was to be one of the highlights of the whole week.

The procession begun. I could hear drums playing at the start, then trumpets accompanying them. This was then followed by The announcement of the beginning of the procession in 3 or 4 different languages.

We were wheeled by the youth pilgrims, down to the basilica, which was underground. Feeling the air changing, the music growing louder, but the expanse becoming wider, I was wheeled down the tunnel and into the huge vast basilica. Seating just over 25,000 people, it was a huge vast room. Though it seemed never ending. The echos punctuated with the organ and choir, brought me to tears. I could hardly speak. The slight anxieties I had felt that day, because of trolling on social media, vanished. I was lifted out of my chair, and brought upwards to the ceiling above! I felt warm, calm, serene. I could feel the tears flowing from my eyes. I struggled to breathe, beginning to cough, but only able to utter the words: This is beautiful. Just beautiful.

Again, during the torch light procession I was the same. The lights from the candles I could not see, but I could imagine them. The candles being held up into the sky. Forming one huge light of about 1000 candles it seemed. Immaculate mary being sung in many languages. The whole thing making me cry as I joined in the singing. Although I could not see the light forming above me. The warmth in my heart was as strong as it was before and gaining in strenth.

The heat on the morning of the water gesture was immense. 43 degrees Celsius. Okay, I thought. The water will be quite warm then… How very wrong I was! I was brought into a cubicle, where I stripped to the waste. A nun put a warm towel around me and I was lead out into the main area, where the water was. Suddenly, the towel was taken, only to be replaced by a freezing one. I gasped. Struggling to breathe, I regained my composure and was lead down the steps, into the fridgid water below! I began to hyperventilate. Trying to hold my breath, I walked down to the statue of our Lady. Every step fridgid cold! I continued, still gasping for air. Eventually, I got there and we said a few prayers. Alan had been right! The water was cold after all! I did not let that stop me though. Worrying about my breathing, they quickly got me out and into the warmth. But where was the water? I was dry. A miracle of Lourdes!

My week in Lourdes that year was spectacular. One I will never forget. I’ve met lovely people since then in 2023, as well as last year. Hopefully this year I’m able to go too! In 2019 though, when leaving Lourdes, I felt a kind of grief. I was leaving my happy place. The place I could let go. I could find peace. A place that had touched my soul in a way I can’t even explain! It does every year! Something happens that even I can’t explain why it does. It just does. I grow stronger in my faith, but I also meet new people. Make new friends, but strenthen my friendships I have already made! It’s a shame I can’t be there to celebrate the 71st miracle of Lourdes, John Traynor’s cure back in 1923 of his epilepsy and paralysis. But I will be listening online and attempting to sing along to all the Lourdes favourite hymns. I will, for an hour or so, be taken to my happy place! Until July of this year, that is. God willing I get there this year! Back to my happy place! The beautiful sanctuary of Lourdes!

In answer to my prayer, this year I am going! I managed to save up and am able to go. There are now only 9 days to go, until I will be heading off to my happy place! The beautiful town of Lourdes! Thank you mother! Thank you God!