The whole idea of penance is selfish, misguided. You can't bargain with God, buy Him with pieties.This is what you've found out - that even with the best intentions, even with all of your thoughtful sermons and deep feelings and good works, you can't save anyone, least of all yourself.

And yet, it's not a defeat. After everything, you may still be saved. Your mother was wrong; it's not up to you. It's always been His decision.

You pick up the shovel, blow out the candle and go outside. The moves on the lake, stars smeared across a clear sky. The smell of ashes lingers. Always will, you imagine. You walk in the dark, stumble up through the woods till you reach the tracks. You look east to Shawano, as if a train might be coming, yhen head for Friendship, the shovel scuffing your leg with every step.

An it's not a mystery to you why you're doing this. It's not a secret. A man who's lost only want to go home. A parioh, if just some small part of him, wants to belong, to be, in the end, forgiven. Don't those souls in Hell lift their faces to Heaven? Tonight, you think, you need to be with the ones you love.

     In "A Prayer for the Dying" from Stewart O'Nan