This crucifix has been with me for a long time. The story is that my maternal grandmother, with whom I spent the first 6 years of my life, found the crucifix while escaping from Poland at the beginning of the World War 2. It hung next to her bed until I inherited it.

I assume it was part of a monastic habit – or I hope it was. It was on the altar when I said Mass as a priest. And is now on my desk where I write. I sometimes wonder about its origin. Yet above all it is the emotional attachment that makes it special.