A Burden Removed

Chu Gai · 02-05-2007, 06:30 AM

My mother is 89 years old and for all that time has been a Catholic. She is very old school and steeped in the tradition and customs of a person who learned and practiced her religion while a child. Just because Popes have said it's OK to eat meat on certain days or have changed the practices and customs to suit more modern times, she has remained steadfast in her ways of thinking and beliefs. Despite anything I or others might've said to the contrary, she has a certain comfort that is rooted in tradition. However, with that comfort also came a burden.
My mother, you see, has carried a burden. A stigma and an unpardonable sin for when she married my father, she married a divorced man. To her mind, because my father's previous marriage was not annulled she had made a decision to trade the promise of eternal salvation for the temporary earthly damnation of human love. Not only had she damned herself, she had also damned my father. For those familiar with the convenient and bought for Kennedy annulments, this is not an unknown way of thinking.
Not being especially fluent in English, coupled with a small but growing diminished mental capacity had only reinforced this belief over the years. As a result, she has refused communion, a fundamental tenet of Catholicism. The few times she attended Church services were done with misgivings for here was a divorced woman daring to be present in the home of God while living a life that perpetuated this unpardonable sin.
Being 89 years old makes one painfully aware of their mortality and that the transition from this world is around some near corner. I cannot tell you how quietly she feared for both her and my father's soul. After all, eternity is forever. A silent terror is indeed something to be feared.
However, all the above has changed. Two Sundays ago, during a quiet family get together outside the home, the local priest stopped by to say some words. After a while, I stopped him to tell him I had a problem and asked if he could help at which point I recounted the above story. He listened thoughtfully, smiled, and said let me take care of this. With that, he took my both my mother's hands in his, lifted her up, and the two disappeared for perhaps 15 minutes. When my mother returned, she simply said, "I'm going to get Communion tomorrow." Later that evening, she walked up to my father and told him that he didn't have to worry anymore because he was going to heaven. The next day, I said the following...

Quote:

Words are just words. We hope that our words convey the very essence of the thoughts and feelings we have inside. However, truthfully what I say today will only be a modest expression of what I know in my heart to be true. Though we use words every day, today they seem unable of conveying the full truth. Today, words pale in the shadows of grief and they crumble under the weight of sorrows. Despite knowing that, today I will speak to you from my soul, because the soul is the very intersection between the heart and the mind. And at that intersection rests the place where we can remain connected to those who no longer walk among us.
Despite our differences in age, gender, race, and religion, today we are as one. Today we are as one, united not only by our desire to say goodbye, but rather in our need to do so. Let’s be honest, the only reason we’ve gathered here today from locations near and far is because of the quality of my father's character. He was a fair man. He was an honest man. He was a man of principle. He was a man of conviction. He was a man of resilience. He was simple, hardworking, and ever faithful. He was a son, a husband, and a grandfather. But, above all things, he was my father.
A father plays a special role in your life; a role that can not be equaled, substituted, or replaced. Unless you’ve lost your father, you really can not understand the void that is left behind. It’s a void that can not be filled with cards, flowers, memories, or time. When someone is taken from us we often ask why. That question is frequently met with a response of, “it was his time.” Somehow, those words often sound so hollow. It’s as if we’ve been conditioned to respond with them, because they are safe, appropriate, or we know that our words can not change what has already happened. As I reflect on the question of why he was taken from us, I find myself believing that my father’s passing, may actually be a unique situation where the words, “it was his time” strike the very cords of truth.
What else was left for him to accomplish that hadn’t already been achieved in the past ninety years? Ninety years; think about that. Is it ninety years young? Is it ninety years old? I’m not sure I have the answer. We often attempt to quantify time into something measurable. Ninety years is supposed to mean over 32,000 days and nearly 800,000 hours. But a man’s time on this earth, can not be counted in days, minutes, and seconds. Our time on this earth is more than something we can measure with a calculator. Our time on this earth is measured by the lives we touch, the events we experience, and the memories we leave behind. Today we can celebrate that life and the continuation of that life into heaven. While he is no longer physically apart of our lives, he will always live on with us spiritually as he smiles down from that lofty vantage point patiently awaiting each of us, when it’s ultimately our time.
In the weeks prior to pop getting sick, I had an extraordinarily difficult time getting him back to bed. The walker offered help but his legs were weak and his joints ached of arthritis. As I fixed him to be comfortable he said two things to me. He told me how damned tired he was of living this way. Then he told me that he was afraid of dying. At that moment I recalled the movie, Meet Joe Black. In the movie, an angel comes to earth to spend some time taking the stock of a man, Bill Parrish, before he takes him from his earthly world into the next which is a complete unknown. At the end of the movie, Bill turns to Joe and asks him, "Should I be afraid?". Joe replies, "Not a man like you."
My dad belongs to the chronicles of time now and the annals of our family history; but I think it’s fair to say we all preferred it when he were here with us. He will live on in our memories, as we remember him often as a man that took pride in being as pure as the soil he harvested from. I thank you for joining me today to honor my father. May we all be so lucky, so fortunate, and so privileged to walk this world for 90 years and in doing so leave an everlasting impact that brings so many together to celebrate our life, when it is our turn to see him again.

Thank you for listening.

Harpozep · 02-05-2007, 08:23 AM

Thank you ! Very moving .And this is coming from a non religious person ( Me ).
Your summation of your dad's life and impact had a warmth and nobility about itself. Indeed, what more is there to do...at the end. He lived a long life, and by the sound of it a good one.

Goodbyes are sad, and eternity is the abyss of time from where we come and go. I lost my mother unexpectedly when she was 62 and always wondered what she would have been like for our daughter who was born a year after mom passed. My mom always wanted a grandchild, but went away before that happened. I will always feel she left before her work was done...............

Thanks for sharing your thoughts with us. Families are complicated and simple. The simple being that we are all so temporary and our time here is relatively short. We should strive to make that time count.

Mike Frezon · 02-05-2007, 12:37 PM

Chu: Thanks for sharing. It sounds like you have strong family ties--a blessing.

Good for you to have approached the priest and asked for help. Good for him that he gave your mother and father peace-of-mind and peace-of-soul.

Cameron Yee · 02-05-2007, 02:46 PM

Chu, I'm sorry for your loss and was touched by what you wrote. I'm sure your father felt blessed to have you in his life.



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