Memento Mori

A very strange thing happened to me the other day while tending to my family's graves, especially while laying a bouquet of flowers on my father's.

I can remember being twelve or thirteen and watching my grandfather's casket being lowered into the ground and knowing what was happening, and coming back at eighteen or nineteen and looking at his headstone and comprehending what had happened. Mostly, my heart broke when I saw that my grandmother had already bought her plot next to him and had her name and birth date carved in the headstone. I boo-hooed out there that day when I realized what it meant.

Like I said, I went to put flowers on my father's grave, and I saw my mother had bought his head stone with her name and birth date already inscribed, I boo-hooed like I did when I was a teenager.  There, in big, black, bold letters was our last name - a name I don't think I'll ever be able to give up for a husband, not only my father's name, but my name, too. A name that I feel like is such a part of me and so representative of who I am, I can't disassociate it from myself and my identity. And it scared me. And it reminded me, everything in this world passes away, and I will, too.

I can honestly say I've just about got everything I wished for as a child. I have a job I like, I finally live in a house I pay for, I own my car, I pay my car and health insurance. And for the first time in my life surrounded by my dead family, I felt like an adult. I haven't been so lucky as other people my age and had the right of passage of marriage and children (which I feel like is most people's right of passage into adulthood). And it's in that moment that I realized, I am actually a little thankful that I haven't experienced that feeling yet because somehow, I feel this is fitting. I haven't had a "normal" life or an "easy" life, so why would entering in this phase be any different?

My family is falling apart. My mother keeps busy (which I actually think is good for her) but she rarely has time to talk to me. My baby brother has gone to the marines (he's already gone, actually). And my other brother and I...well, we try, but we never really have gotten along. Maybe this is why I've never been able to marry. This is a tough time, and it seems as if there is no joy. I think only the hope of having my own family could salvage my current one and bring everyone together again.

Then again, maybe I don't get to have any joy. Maybe this is just what God has picked out for me. I hope not.

I swear I'll quit posting about death soon. I just can't shake that topic lately. It's haunted me too much this year.

Death defines us.

When you have a parent die, it is indescribable. You go through these roller coaster of emotions. At first, it's like a thrill ride, constantly up and down, and eventually, after a while, it all slows down. The ups and downs are still there, just simply more spaced out.

One thing that has occurred to throughout all of this is that I never knew what kind of man my father was until his passing. Over 500 (500!) people came to his funeral. It was standing room only. All because at some point or another, he had carried them to work, bought them a meal, been a good boss or a friendly neighbor...just an all around good ol' boy always willing to lend a hand. He also had no problem putting people in their place if they weren't doing right by others.  I might have been able to say I'm pretty sure my dad was a good man while he was alive, but now that he's gone, I can definitely say he was a good man.

And then it occurred to me. It was the same with Jesus. People could say while he was alive, "we're pretty sure He's the messiah" but after His death and resurrection, people could definitely say "HE IS the messiah."

Not saying my dad was like Jesus, I'm just drawing the parallel that it was only in death, each man's life got definition. And maybe that is what death is, that last judgement, that ending point that gives each of our lives meaning. We'll spend our whole lives trying to figure out who we are and who God wants us to be only to know at the moment of death.

That's really the first time I've contemplated God or something spiritual in the past three months.

I'm still upset and disappointed at Him. I've been known to be a little begrudging, and surely God knew something like this was going to make me a spiritual zombie. I know it can't be healthy, but work out your salvation with fear and trembling, right?

I Miss You.

I keep seeing blue ford f-150s driving around town, and I keep thinking to myself, "hey, Daddy's back. He's come to hang out, have dinner, and visit."

But then it hits me. And then it hurts. So very, very much. I'd trade twenty years off my life just to have him back for twenty more. Or I'd give anything just to start over from this point again.

Anything. Just to have this again.  As weird and wacky and crazy as we were. 

There is a hole in my heart, and not even God and can fill it right now. 

A Strange Thing Happened.

A strange thing happened.

Someone at the funeral told me that there would be a sign that my dad was ok. I didn't really believe them. I thought it was more worn out platitudes. Granted, I thought he might do a short stint in purgatory due to the fact that he never went to church, but he lived the gospel every day of his life.

But, I haven't posted this information here, so let me begin by saying, for the past two months, my previous landlord has pursued a lawsuit against me and my roommate in small claims court.  I talked about it at length with my Dad, and he said she was just bullying us because we were young, she didn't like us, and it was personal. (She didn't need the money at all). He never thought I should pay her a dime and that I should stand my ground.

I had just said to a co-worker after my car breaking down, after my Dad dying, "I'm going to get home this afternoon, and she's going to have sent us an e-mail saying she won, and I owe her money."

There was an e-mail that night.

All it said was that she was dropping the lawsuit.

Holy. Cow.

I think that was my Dad. I think he fixed that for me because he still loves me and is watching over me.
And if that's the case, he's not in purgatory, but in Heaven if it was him. (Heaven!) I don't know anything for sure, but I really feel like that was him helping me out.

HEAVEN! I can't be certain, but I feel it in my gut, and I feel a lot better about him being gone now.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

The hardest thing I've ever done is lay my Daddy to rest.

It was harder than becoming Catholic.
Harder than breaking off an engagement.
Harder than my Nana's death.

I never realized how close we actually were, but that's not to say I took my Daddy for granted. I loved every minute I had with him, and death was continually at the forefront of his mind since I was a little girl. Back then, I just thought he was overly sentimental when he used to tell me "You're driving my most precious cargo to school. You obey the speed limits and do right driving." Of course I rolled my eyes, but I knew he meant it.

I'm lucky that I can say I knew my Daddy, that he was there for me. He fed me every night at 2 am while playing Super Mario on the NES in the 80s. He tried to teach me how to ride a bike. He took me hunting. We flew kites every May. We fished together every spring. He bought me sno cones and ice cream in summer. He taught me how to spit out of the truck like a boy. He scared boys off when I got older. He was patient with me in learning how to do Algebra and made me practice an extra hour every night because he knew I was weak in my math skills. He always helped me do my homework. He got me jobs during the summer so I could work to pay for my college. He pushed me to do my best and graduate and not be boy crazy. If I hurt myself, I called him, and he could fix it, or if not, he would give me the money to go to the emergency room. He would give me 100$ almost every time I saw him just for doing good in life. I called him about taxes. About moving. About shower heads and broken down cars. About jobs and careers. He was my rock. My guide. When life was wrong, I went home to Daddy because he fixed it.

He was my first and best man in my life. The only boy I ever wanted to white knight things for me. He was my first superhero, and the first guy I loved.

I can remember being six or seven, and riding in that old grey truck listening to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. He would look over and tell me, "Now, when it's my time to go, and it will come, I want you to play this song. And I don't want nobody crying and sobbing and all that mess. It's not a funeral. It's a homegoing because I'll be going to the good Lord. So I want ya'll to be happy. And I want you to play this song and Elton John's Funeral for a Friend and dance on my grave." And of course, I'm sure I was a bit bleary eyed, so he would always say, "But that ain't for a while." He told me that most of my life. In fact, we had just had the conversation again back when my Nana died in January. When my mother left the room, he looked at me and said, "I mean it. And I know that you'll be the only one in the family to make sure it happens." I promised him I would.

And so I did. After everyone had left. After the grave was dug. After the casket was put in the Earth and covered up. I got my phone out and played those two songs, and I danced on his grave just like he had always wanted. 

I just keep wishing I understood God's timing.

The only thing, the entire weekend, anyone said to me that has made me feel a little bit better is this: "Your Daddy is not gone dear. He is just in a different part of your life. He will watch over you and take care of you now, and I promise you, there going to be time you feel like he is in the room with you, and Baby, he is. He won't leave you. He loved you too much for that and knows you need him."

And I thought about it. If I believe in the communion of saints like I say I really do, at some point, Daddy will be in Heaven. And Daddy can help me. I can pray to him. I can still talk to him. I can still ask him to help me, to guide me. He may not be able to fix the sink anymore, but I can ask him to send someone my way who can, be it a plumber or my future husband. That is the only thing I have found comfort in so far.

Still, I wish Daddy had been 82 instead of 52.

My Daddy Died Today.

I. can't. stop. crying.

WHY? I mean, I understand all the theological reasons and all that, but right now, they are unsatisfactory answers. WHY my dad? WHY this age?  WHY when he got regular checkups and the doctor told him he was okay? WHY so soon after my grandmother? WHY WHY WHY?

It feels like God is just picking on the Doherty family. What else can be thrown our way? And I know it's not Him per se, but the effects of sin, but I want to hold someone responsible. I guess I should be pointing fingers at the Devil, but I know God has more power, so why didn't he step in and do something because my father was only 52. He was too young. I'm too young. He'll never walk me down the aisle. He'll never meet his grandchildren.

For as wack as my family is, we at least retained the traditional nuclear family structure. My Daddy was the head, followed by my mom, me, and on down the line. Now I understand why God says be kind to widows. Granted we are all grown, but we are still children. We've barely even scratched the beginning of our lives, and now, we have to take care of our mother. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating that being in this situation gives me a new appreciation for those verses. 

Remember how I said 27/2012 was looking to better than 26/2011? Yeah, right. This year can suck it. 

Feel free to give me a spiritual pep talk. I'm not going to get it anywhere else. 

Problems of Purgatory

I read this today, and Purgatory has been on my mind since my Nana died.

I mean, everyone was consoling everyone in my family with "She's in Heaven now" and "She's reunited with her husband." And so everyone was comforted by these statements because everyone is Protestant.

Everyone except me, that is.

Little Catholic ol' me who boo-hoo-ed the entire funeral because no one could say anything to comfort me. Sure, my Nana's Earthly suffering had ended, but what next? More than likely, she went to purgatory. And purgatory is no Heaven. And in some ways, it might be worse than Earth depending upon how one lived her life.

I don't think she was baptized. So did she go directly to Hell? Surely, a just God would not send a woman who so fervently believed in Jesus to Hell. So did she experience baptism of desire?

If she did, she made it to Purgatory at least. How much time will she have to spend there? Will she be held to the same standards as a Catholic? Did any of her time on Earth, any of her suffering earn her some indulgences since she may or may not have been familiar with the idea of redemptive suffering? Will some of her sins be automatically forgiven and her time lessened if she had a mental disorder that caused her to commit sins?

And who will pray for her release from Purgatory besides little ol' me? Certainly no one else in my family.  And what of my grandfather, an upstanding man, a good father, and a Methodist minister? What of him? Is he in Purgatory too?

But other people can pray others in general out of Purgatory, right?

Very rarely do situations remind me of bible verses, but I can't help but think of 1 Corinthians 13:11
And then I noticed it's the same chapter as popular love/wedding/theological virtues scriptures.

I can't help but feel I'm being told something here, but I can't make sense of it.
Either I'm too tired, too spiritually inexperienced, or too sinful to understand.
Or maybe some combination of the three.

But I used to like the idea of Purgatory before I became Catholic.
Now it really bothers me.
Still, I'll pray for my Nana, and all the dead.

We laid my Nana to rest today.

It feels so surreal. I only have a few thoughts floating around in my head. So bulleted list order it is.

• It was a lovely Protestant service, but I couldn't help but feel we were all missing something by not having a funeral mass. It's like I knew the only thing that could calm me down is the peace of the Eucharist. And how nice would it have been for us to all be taking communion together?
• My Nana, though overall a good lady, still had some hang ups throughout her life. Did she forgive and forget during the course of her disease? Everyone was all talking about how she was definitely in Heaven; poor little old me is wondering how much time she has to spend in Purgatory, or if she even has to spend any in Purgatory at all because she suffered so much here. Then again, she didn't offer it up, so it doesn't count right? Or does it because she was Protestant and really didn't know any better? Unfortunately, I can't turn to my family for answers to these questions since no one is Catholic. 
• She went so quickly. But she outlived all her friends and family and got rid of a bout with pneumonia not too long ago. She always said that even though she loved us greatly, when her husband died, she was ready for God to take her any day. Some afternoons, I'd come home and she'd be back in her chair crying about how much she missed my Grandfather and how she couldn't understand why she was still here. In my heart of hearts, I'd like to believe she worked things out. And even deeper in my heart of hearts, I'd like to believe that someone, a guardian angel or maybe even my grandfather, offered her the chance to pass or to stay while on her way to the hospital. I really believe she had a choice, and I believe she took it. I just feel it in my gut. 
• Our priest locks our chapel. During daylight hours. Honestly, what's the point of being Catholic if I can't go worship and sit with Jesus any time I want? One of the reasons I left the Protestant faith(s) was because it was so Sunday/Wednesday-ish. I want church, God, Jesus in my everyday. I honestly could have marched right over to his house, knocked on his door, and pestered him to open it for me just so I could sit and cry in front of Jesus for a bit.
• But how awesome is it that I could walk over to my priest's house and ask him to open up the chapel? Yet another cause for priestly celibacy is that while he may lose out on lay life as a father and parish member, he gets an entire Parish as family. And parish members don't feel bad or guilty for bothering him or "taking up his time" with their problems because what else is a single priest with no kids going to do besides pray, visit the elderly, and run and maintain a parish? He has no tension between his family, work, and spiritual life. They are all balanced in his vocation. He has no other obligations but to the Church. 
• I'm still mad, but I'm not mad at God. I'm mad at our fallen Human condition. I just know God never wanted or intended our existence to be this way. The is evidenced by the fact that He put us in Paradise. We took it away from ourselves. And because He loved us, even if we screwed everything up and threw everything off balance, He sought to make it right. He wanted us to have eternal life, to have paradise. He gave us Jesus. He set the scales back aright. In a perfect world, these sorts of things would not happen. I'm not claiming to know the thoughts of God, but the more I ponder it, the more I am just wholeheartedly convinced if He didn't want us to live eternally with Him, for us to have Paradise once again, to spare us of suffering, infirmaries, and time, He never would have sent Jesus to redeem us. Obvious and simple, but it carries so much weight these days. 
• All the more reason to keep my eyes on the Kingdom. 
• I miss my Nana more now than ever. It was one thing to spend time with her and know she couldn't talk to me or move or go shopping with me or curl my hair or play solitaire or sew with me; it's completely another thing to know I'll never even see her again as long as I am Earth bound. And I think our bodies instinctively know this isn't how things were meant to be. And I think that's why, religious or not, we cry when someone dies. 

I can't articulate my thoughts completely. That's just what's floating around. 

Oh 2012. I hoped for the promise of change, and oh how I've gotten it in some of the most unexpected ways. 

My Nana Died Today.

And I am beside myself.  She either lived next door or with us for most of my life. It was only when I went to grad school that I didn't see her as much.

Growing up, I always thought it sucked to have two mothers. One mother that was biological and sometimes treated me more as a sister, and my grandmother, who taught me how to sew, set a table, make a bed, bake a pie, and play solitaire. This is the woman who encouraged me to dream of travel, big cities, bright lights, musicals, and to get an education. As time went on and my Nana's condition declined, my mother stepped in and actually started "mothering" me. Oddly enough, I think this is exactly how it needed to be all along. I don't think my mother was actually mature enough for a child when she had one, and I think she needed time to grow into it. It was only when she started taking care of my Nana that we started gelling well as mother and daughter. Now, that I think about it, I was actually lucky to have two mothers, even as difficult as it might have been at times or how much my angsty teenage self proclaimed I hated it.

I never got to say goodbye. It. just. happened. No one in the family had time to say goodbye. No one made it there in time it happened so quickly. And it's so sad because I know she told me once that she wanted someone to hold her hand.

Father John has said before that he doesn't like it when people say, "Oh, it was just his or her time to go. It was God's plan." I wholeheartedly agree. This wasn't God's plan. One of the consequences of sin was death. Death, leaving one another behind, this was not His intentions at all. He originally put us in a paradise with no diseases like Alzheimer's. No need for things or people to pass away. We did this to ourselves, and now we answer for it.

But that's the beauty of Heaven, right? That paradise can be restored. That we can be healed of infirmaries. That things and people can last. That all of us will agree that God is good, God is great.  And if there is anything I needed right before Lent to remind me how great the promise of Heaven is, well, as awful as it sounds, maybe this is the reminder I needed.

Eternal rest grant unto Jamie J., O Lord, 
and let perpetual light shine upon her. 
May she rest in peace.

Amen.