November 14, 2010

• Eternal Rest Grant Unto Them, O Lord…

  I have learned a great deal about death this year.

  I would not by any means suggest I have learned everything; what an arrogant act that would be! But I learned far more in this short amount of time than I thought I would at this point in my life. November has been set aside as a month of memorial and prayer for the dead for many centuries, so I thought I might share some of this past year’s experiences with death. I hope that these posts are not only interesting but consoling to anyone out there in Xangania that is mourning the loss of a loved one. Know that the Catholic Church prays for you and for them especially during this month, and outside of this month remembers them at each and every Mass, every hour of the day somewhere in the world, every day of the year (except Good Friday of course), and has been for well over a thousand years.

  

  (My grandfather and I, just a few weeks before he passed away. I no longer have that long hair, btw!)

  For ten years my maternal grandfather battled cancer that began with his prostate and moved into his bones and everywhere else. When it was first diagnosed he was given several months at best. Similar diagnoses would be given over the coming years, but time and again he would show signs of remission, recovering t-cell counts and other positive little victories.

  No one in our family was really expecting a full cure but what we did take joy in was the opportunity to see the death of this man coming far in advance and trying to relish our remaining time with him. It was hard for me to do not emotionally but practically, because I was in college/religious formation for eight of those years. Over those years, as I came to love and understand God more and more I began to love everyone in my life and no longer take them for granted. When I entered religious life especially I made extra efforts to visit my grandparents and, praise God, last year was granted permission to come home for Thanksgiving and Christmas- our last with grandpa. They were very simple celebrations: on Thanksgiving, because even the smell of food cooking would make him sick, we had cocktail wienies in barbeque sauce and macaroni and cheese, and it was PERFECT.

  In December, after I had already been home for our little Christmas with him, I was preparing to go on a silent three-day retreat when I got a phone call from my mother that grandpa was not doing well, and that he could go at any time. That retreat I was praying for him every day, asking that God draw him to himself in peace.

  I had also begun reading the autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux, who not only blessed us with a beautiful snow during the retreat (just as I was reading about the snow she prayed for and received on her vow day) but promised to spend her time in heaven sending roses to those on earth who desired them and to whom God granted such a favor. So, presuming upon the love of God and the generous offer of my new-found friend in Christ, I asked her for a special favor: should my grandfather die, St. Therese, please ask Jesus to bless me with a sign. If he passes and is in purgatory, please send me a red rose and if he is in heaven, a white one. To my relief, no roses on that retreat, save for my daily “Rose of Sharon” at Mass every day!

  I last saw my grandfather alive in January when I was home for Christmas break. As always, it was a simple little visit, and during that past retreat I had written my last letter to my grandfather, which he had by this visit received. It was a very different letter, I think, from the ones he was used to receiving. In it I talked about some of my favorite memories of us together, of my continual prayers for him, but also my joy and excitement for him that, at any moment, he could find himself face-to-face with the God we desire to encounter our whole lives and invest our whole Christian lives hoping in. We talked about that letter and I was so moved at how important it was to both my grandparents; they finally felt like someone “got it.” They aren’t Catholic (Baptist) and are pretty simple, God-fearing folk, but they understood the beautiful side of death and were feeling a bit alone in that sentiment.

  A couple of weeks later, in the first few days of February, I kept having this little “nag” in my mind that I should call my grandpa, so I finally did. We had a very brief chat because he was very tired, but he was otherwise doing all right and I was able to say goodbye and that I loved him before he handed the phone off to my aunt who was visiting at the time. Several days later on a Friday he entered into an intense period of pain and suffering, Saturday he rested quietly and Sunday morning as the sun was rising he passed away. My mother, a nurse of thirty years and the witnesses of many deaths said his was the most peaceful she had ever witnessed.

  That evening, while I was at Mass, I was standing with the choir and this beautiful young woman with long red hair, a perpetual smile and a joyful spirit, took her place in front of me and stopped my heart: she was wearing a red rose in her hair! I praised God quietly, thanking Him for His infinite mercy, for I knew that my grandfather was being prepared, even now, to meet Him!

  My grandmother decided that there would be no funeral but a simple burial service, and due to time and weather I was unable to attend. There was a family get-together/memorial in April that I came to though, and it was nice to see my grandmother and other family members I don’t often see.

  On October 1^st, the Feast of St. Therese of Lisieux, I spoke to my friend, standing so close to Christ, and asked her again for a favor. For my grandparents were married for 52 years (they met and eloped after only 9 weeks of knowing each other!) and she was having an absolutely terrible time coping with his loss. I asked St. Therese to ask Christ for another favor, another rose to let me know how my grandfather is doing. That night was also the night when I was attending the symphony (Copland’s Appalachian Spring and Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue). As I was entering the performance hall, a stunning young woman in an ivory dress walked by, wearing a white rose in her hair. I realized again not only God’s love and mercy, but that instead of sending me a plucked and good-as-dead rose such as those in the grocery store, He sent to me beautiful, vibrant and living roses, reminding me that in Christ, there is no death but a super-abundance of life. Praise God!

  My grandmother is still suffering tremendously with depression and mental illness now, so I am awaiting an opportunity to share all of this with her. I keep praying for her and I write when I can and call as well, and if you could spare a prayer for Maxine during this solemn month when the Earth about us fades into the gray and white of winter. Remember, though, that winter is not so much the end of summer as it is the preparation of SPRING.

  For my next blog I hope to share some of my experiences as a hospital chaplain this summer. Until then, know that you are all loved and prayed for, some of you by name even, but all of you nonetheless. God bless!

  

  (St. Therese; beautiful in life…………and beautiful in death.)

   

  • 10:40 pm
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