God works in interesting ways...

The following is from my sister Kim's blog. Our mom died right after she turned 10, and she's beginning to reflect upon it (My Mom's father died when she was 9 too... hopefully not a pattern). Incidentally, Gail's death has helped her begin to work through things in a positive way.

As I mentioned in my last blog, the past week has been very overwhelming. I went into detail on one aspect, but not another. Let me start out by saying how thankful I am to have this blog. It’s a way for me to “vent” as some call it, however I prefer the term “express my feelings”. I know it sounds a bit weird, but after I blog I always feel this sense of freedom. Like everything that is bothering me I no longer have to worry about (for a little while) because it’s already been told.

Anyways, to continue what I originally had to write: The wake and funeral for Gail was very moving and brought back many memories for me. For those of you who don’t know what I mean, 6 years ago my own mom passed away of lymphoma cancer. I was ten years old and at this age, it’s a total shock for a kid. You don’t exactly know what to think and therefore I never expressed how I felt- because I didn’t feel anything. However, the last year or so (escaladed this past week) I can’t stop thinking about how much I miss my mom and how much different my life would be if she was around. As a teenager this is especially hard because I’ve just “hit reality” (as some say) of her loss and feel like I have no one to be a “mom” to me. As a girl, our mothers are the ones who comfort you on your first date, take you out shopping or for “mother daughter day”, talk with you when you’re having problems and just plainly help you get through life.

Continue reading her thoughts here.

Remembering Gail & Giving Thanks

First of all, I would like to direct you to Carmen's blog. He has kept this since March after Gail was diagnosed with cancer in early February. There are a lot of wonderful memories on here, especially what he has written this past week in honor of Gail. I want to honor Carmen for his powerful witness to love and service of his wife these past seven and a half months.

Since my own mother's death, Gail has been like a 2nd mother to me. I will miss her greatly: the profound friendship she had with Cynthia, her love for Faustina & Jude, her model of motherly goodness, the fun she and Carmen had together, and her kindness to me (among many other things). As I reflected yesterday, she treated me as if we had a special relationship; certainly we did, but she treated everyone that way. I am grateful to God for having Gail in my life.

Although I have faith that Gail is now with the Lord and I perhaps will earn the privilege to see her again in Eternity, it was still somewhat frustrating to go over to their place tonight and not see her; I had a hard time not talking about or thinking about her. The thoughts and feelings are the same as they were in 2003 (and I suspect will be for some time as then), and I don't think I can say much better than I did here.

Deo gratias. Thanks to everyone for their prayers and help these past days. The following is from the beautiful ending of Dante's Paradiso (XXXI, 1-42):

Then in the pattern of a pure white rose
Was shown to me the saintly soldiery
Whom Christ has made his bride with his own blood.

But the other host — who, flying, see and sing
The glory of him who fills them with his love
And the goodness that made them magnificent—

Just like a swarm of bees, alight in flowers
At one instant and in the next returning
To where their toil attains its fragrant taste—

Flew downward into that vast flower, fringed
With myriad petals, and rising up from it
Sped back to where their love forever rests.

Their faces all glowed with a living flame;
Their wings were gold, and their whole form so white
That no snow ever rivaled such pure whiteness.

When they dove to the flower, row on row,
They spread some portion of the love and peace
Which they won when they waved their wings on high.

Nor did the flight of such a multitude
Coming between the upper light and flower
Block out the vision and the sea of splendor.

For the divine light through the universe
So penetrates in measure to its worth
That there is nothing to stand in the way.

This jubilant and ever-restful kingdom,
Thronging with people of old and modern times,
Kept gaze and love all focused on one goal.

O threefold Light which, in a single star
Sparkling upon their sight, so pleases them,
Look down here on our storms that rage on earth!

If the barbarians, come from the North
Which day by day is spanned by Helice,
Rotating with her son on whom she dotes,

Were struck with wonder when they sighted Rome
And her high-towering buildings, at the time
The Lateran surpassed all mortal works,

I, who had come out of our human life
To the divine, from time to the eternal,
From Florence to a just and wholesome people —

What was the wonder which welled up in me!
In truth, what with my stupor and my joy,
I happily heard nothing and stood silent.

Grandma Elaine...

Faustina Elaine was named after not only the famous St. Faustina, but also after my mother, Elaine, who passed away June 22nd, 2003.

Today would have been her 55th birthday...
I remembered her today in prayer and I brought her to the altar at mass.

I think I have dealt with (or tried to deal with) her death as well as one can (certainly there are moments), but the hardest thing for me, I think, is the fact that she cannot share joyous moments with Cynthia and I (and the little ones too, of course). I mean, selfishly, I cannot experience events and times in life where I know her joy would have augmented the sheer pleasure of my own life. Yes, I know that her being here, as all that she was - full of life -, would make those precious moments even more so. Yet I must confess, I appreciate and love my mother better now than I ever did when she was alive, but I suppose we all do that- not appreciate what we have until it's gone.

Yet I trust and have hope in the Lord's mercy. I have always thought that my mother was a good woman, and that her suffering was redemptive not only for the sake of her own salvation but for mine and our family in general. (But back to me again - because this reflection on her is really all about me!)

A friend and colleague of mine at Trinity offered a profoundly wise week of morning prayer reflections at school: he pointed out that the life of our Lord, Jesus Christ can be likened to a Greek tragedy. Now of course, tragedy has to be defined carefully; a tragedy is different from catastrophe. Both are hard and cause pain, but a tragedy has a redemptive element to it, whereas catastrophe is simply destructive. And so if Christ's life is the 'perfect' tragedy, and we are called to imitate Him, then we must not only follow Him as admirers but also carry our cross of suffering. We must embrace both the triumph and the tragedy of our Lord - we must be transfigured by His magnificence and His liberating, beatific love while simultaneously offering ourselves to be crucified in a world that St. Paul says is fundamentally passing away.

I wish I had the text of what he wrote... it was one of the most profound yet clear explanations of human suffering and our challenging call to beatitude I have ever heard. Kudos to Scott.

I bring this in because I firmly believe in God's providence, and I see my Mom's suffering coincide with my 'transfiguration', my true conversion. Only through this could I embrace the cross too.

As my wife, brother, and sister-in-law know best, I am a completely different man than I was even 5 or 6 years ago; I still am a great sinner, but my life is no longer oriented toward me, myself, and I (I know... I still need work); it is oriented toward the Lord; I possess faith, that great grace from God. So, because of this, I long for her to see me as I am now, a son of hers who deeply appreciates her and wants to actually share life with her (rather than shut her out and be unappreciative) and tell her about my day and my passion to share the good news. I want to see her call Granny and talk about nothing for an hour and laugh to myself. I want to see her pick up Faustina and grin at her and tickle her and care for her. I want to see her talk with Cynthia and share her life, and look through old photo albums, and cook Thanksgiving dinner together. I want her to look at me and be proud of who I am and what I've done... well, she always did that... but I want her to actually have something to be proud of rather than just loving me so much for being her son (yeah, she loved us all that much- she was a jealous Mom, kind of like how Yahweh was a jealous God in the Old Testament- we were all everthing to her: Dad, Kim, Jason, Granny, and me).

So, with that babbling, I praise the Holy Trinity for my Mother who remained faithful to the Lord and the Church (as much as she knew how in such a troubled era), and I thank God; and I offer my intercession for the repose of her soul, and I know I can also, through Christ, beseech her to look after us and intercede for us as we struggle on the journey to be saints, knowing that if she could she would - and would have already.

Amen.

= = = = = = = =

My lovely sister-in-law, Annamarie, offered this reflection today as well:

It would have been my mother-in-law’s 55th birthday today. Dear Husband and the boys marked the occasion by going to Mass together and praying for her (while I was bedridden).

As Booger gets older, I am more determined for him to know and remember that he does have another grandmother — one that he has never met, unfortunately.

About a week ago, the boys and I were driving around between errands when I realized how close we were to the cemetery where Elaine is buried, and how long it had been since I’ve gone there.

I also realized that this would be the first time our coherent eldest would be visiting her grave, though he’s gone plenty of times as a baby and toddler.

How interesting it was to have a discussion with Boo Boo about where we were and what we were doing. When we got to the mausoleum and I showed him her grave (which is conveniently located on the lowest level, so the boys can see it easily), he put his eyes up to the marble stone and said, “Why can’t I see her in there?” His curiosity and innocence helped lighten the mood a little, at least.

I had the boys kneel next to me and began to pray out loud. We all were a little surprised when I started crying. It really had been a long time since Elaine had died, and we’ve had to go on without her, but the thought that she would never meet and see our children — and DH’s brother’s children — in this life still overwhelms me with grief from time to time.

“It will be OK, Mama,” Boo Boo said, patting my shoulder. He’s right. I do have to trust that it will be OK, someday, and pray for our reunion in the next life. Then we’ll have all the time in eternity with each other…