It happened again. This time in York.
I walk into the York Minster (the cathedral). I walk around a bit. Then I find a nice spot to sit and look up at the grandeur that is the York Minster.
I was waiting for the Evensong that takes place each evening here.
This is when the choir comes into the Cloister and there is a Christian service of sorts. And the choir sings.
In this very old, Gothic minster.
As I’m waiting I’m thinking of that other Gothic cathedral — Notre Dame in Paris — that brought me to tears.
I wait in the queue to enter the Cloister at about 3:45. The Evensong begins at 4pm on Sundays.
We all go in. Some of us are tourists. Others are locals.
No photos are allowed or recordings.
Before anyone else enters, the choir, standing outside the cloister, begins to sing. I look up at the Gothic ceiling and tears begin to come.
I think of my mom.
She would have loved it.
I almost start sobbing.
Then the choir comes in along with the clergy members.
It will be a religious service of sorts.
And again I’m reminded of wandering Notre Dame, camera in hand, as a Catholic mass was in session.
And I remember how I cried.
Here I was again, deja vú.
Only this time there were the beautiful voices of the choir.
Children and adults melding together in this glorious sound in a gorgeous, historical building.
More tears came.
It was incredibly moving.
And it was simply beautiful.
I think York is going to be one of those cities that I connect with.
I am feeling it already.
From the York Minster to the people to the pubs to the winding streets of the Shambles.
But I know it will be sitting in the Gothic minster and looking up at the stunning architecture as my ears are filled with those gorgeous voices that I’ll always remember…and the tears that I shed. Out of love for the beauty and sadness that my mom couldn’t be sitting there with me. Gosh. She would have loved it.