A Sunday Evening Surprise

I over-slept for Mass this morning, but it appears there was a reason.

Instead I went to the 6 p.m. Mass at another local church.

I was feeling disconnected, lonely. This parish is huge– it was hard to hear. I arrived late, too. I felt bad.

But I thought I recognized the woman in the pew behind me to be a childhood friend’s mother. We were both alone. And both of us waited till after the priest had walked down the aisle and music ended– many others had already exited.

That’s a traditional thing, a respect. I learned it in my Catholic grammar school.

I didn’t see any signs of recognition, but decided to take a chance.

“Are you So-and-so’s mom?”

Yes, she confirmed– I told her my name. Yes, she remembered.

The smile of recognition! She had lived next door to my family when we first moved to Illinois. I probably haven’t seen her in around 15 years, if not longer! We stood at about the same height.

Same red hair and gentle manner.

I’ve never done that before– stayed that long to talk to someone after Mass– at any church I’ve attended over the years.

What a blessing.

Since I’m friends with her daughter on Facebook, I congratulated her on becoming a grandmother, and her daughter’s professional success as a police officer. She is proud! We talked about Adoration, about being Catholic, about different parishes in the area and how we like them.

She recommended a great priest at that parish for Confession, who really listens. She told me about her favorite Mass, since this parish offers many and it quite large and diverse.

I’m so delighted to reconnect with another devout woman! We may go to Mass together one day. She told me to find her on Facebook.

God, I know you’re listening. 🙂 Thanks!

Uncle Donnie’s Last Thanksgiving : Saying Goodbye and the Power of Touch

*This is the speech I read today at his funeral, written last night.

HERE is his obituary, if you’d please take a moment to read about his life.

Regrettably, I didn’t spend much time with Uncle Donnie. But I was happy when he moved to Illinois circa six weeks ago to Brookdale Assisted Living.

I never knew my grandfathers– both died before I could meet them. I visited his room three times, and twice in the ICU at Presence Medical Center in Joliet. I didn’t know exactly what to say– I felt a bit intimidated. But he made and effort to make me comfortable as if it were his own home. I found I liked him, though he was a bit gruff. He sat in his leather chair and I sat on the bed, and we shared a companionable silence. We watched TV.

Both of us had a hearing-loss, but he really struggled to hear me. I could see how much he struggled to communicate. Even speaking slowly and enunciating well, often I still failed to convey my words in a way he could understand. But he took an active role in our conversation and asked me questions when I was feeling shy.

In his mini-fridge, he had a few basics: green grapes, Cheesehead’s string cheese, Sprite and Hershey’s milk chocolate bars. Each time I visited, he would offer me anything available– he wanted to be hospitable. He ate the string cheese in bites, while I peeled it. Thought he possessed little, he was instinctively generous and wanted to share.

I regret that I waited till the tend of his life to cultivate a friendship with this gentle man. He wore a beautiful gold watch, and allowed me to clean it up for him. He trusted me so easily with what must have been a prized possession. He also wore two medals on a gold chain– St. Christopher, and St. Francis, I believe. He had a beautiful crucifix on his wall. Clearly, he was a devout Catholic man.

I never called him in Florida for the same reason I never reach out to many family members I wish I knew better- I don’t know what to say. But I learned while visiting that what we say does not matter-rather, it’s our gesture of reaching out that matters.

When my Dad told me he was in the ICU on Black Wednesday, I went to visit him. He had a breathing apparatus on, but recognized me when I touched his arm. A nurse came to draw blood and I held his opposite hand for support. I knew how much it can hurt. He didn’t fuss or complain as she did her job.

On Thanksgiving my parents and I went back, and I was able to see him one last time. He was less responsive, but still fighting. Breathing was hard for him. We watched TV.

Other family arrived. Uncle Donnie never spoke that day, but he responded immediately to touch. He would turn his face toward the person and it seemed to deeply relax him. I watched our family keep a vigil at his bedside- holding onto Uncle Donnie. Letting him known we were there, that he was loved. We took turns being alone and saying goodbye. We were sitting around his bed just talking normally, when I left for maybe 20 minutes. I came back and he had just been unhooked and passed. All of us cried. We prayed over him.

I’m grateful I was given this chance to know him. To have a few moments to experience what it must be like to have a grandfather. Our love for him brought us together on Thanksgiving and he made his peace with life, his beloved family, and departed.

Now I bet he’s up in Heaven, smoking his Pall Mall Menthol 100’s, eating a Hershey’s bar, and watching over us.

As my father said, our dear Uncle Donnie went home for Thanksgiving. Home to rest with our eternal Father.

Sister’s light brought me back to my faith: Common Sense column #12

This is my most personal column yet.

I wrote it in tribute to my aunt, a nun who helped to build my faith. I believe it she who guided me to the opportunity, and praying to her gave me the strength to apply for the job at all.  And as the Year of Faith begins in my church, I declared mine via my column.

Here ya go!