Oh Mother, Oh Sister, Oh Father.
Oh Mother, my head is just barely above water and I beg you to help me, to reach out your hands and grab onto me, hold onto me, lest I drown. You do. You do.
Oh Sister, one thing I know: you love me, even when I yell at you and cuss and tell you all the reasons I don't like you, the first of which being that you call me on to something greater. And you love me and listen, and then smile because even though you are already a Saint, if I had lived in your time, I would have been one to help you to get there. You love me. You love me.
Oh Good Father, when I am weak and weepy, I run to you, curl into your Father-Arms and hide there, trying to make sense of the nothingness. I can count on you. When I can't count on anything, I can count on you. I can count on you.