Pietà

My grandmother had a Pietà in her bookcase shelf, the Madonna holding the body of her broken child. It probably cost very little, yet represented an excruciating time in her life, one that she never discussed. But the Pietà was there for everyone to see, silently bearing the pain and injustice of it all.
Sincerely devout, Nana would go to mass every Sunday, my grandfather driving her to church and waiting in the car, even in August. He did the Sunday jumble while she listened…