| The Crucifixion |
John 19:25-30
Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.
After this, aware that everything was now finished, in order that the scripture might be fulfilled, Jesus said, "I thirst." There was a vessel filled with common wine. So they put a sponge soaked in wine on a sprig of hyssop and put it up to his mouth. When Jesus had taken the wine, he said, "It is finished." And bowing his head, he handed over the spirit.
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Loss of a Spouse
Mary G.
15 years ago my husband died of Cancer. He was four days past his 31st birthday and had been in the hospital just over a week. We had been married almost four years. We had a little boy who was one week shy of his 3rd birthday; we had a little girl who was exactly 11 months old. I was devastated!
Three years later, my dad died of congestive heart failure. Mom and he had been married just over 40 years. Their kids (seven of us) were all grown. They had 12 grandchildren (and another on the way). Although she had been expecting Dad to die first, Mom was devastated.
So, Mom and I were widows at the same time. But our grief and healing were very different. And everyone who loses a spouse has a different grieving and healing process. But loss of a spouse (or someone very close to you) is often the cause of a rift between the “victim” and her religion.
This is my story of how, through the grace of God, I kept and grew my faith after I was widowed – and I tell it as it might help someone in a similar situation hold onto their faith and grow in love and service for God.
As I mentioned at the outset, I was a young widow – I was 30 when Mike died. I was destroyed. I cursed God. And my loving pastor let me be upset for a short time and then told me “that’s enough. Now, what are you going to do?” You see, I had those little ones to worry about. I had a corporate ladder-climbing job to return to. I had a (what I hope will be) a long life ahead of me. I couldn’t sit in a corner, gnash my teeth, and bemoan God and my lot in life.
So I sought advice. I looked to my family who were all praying for me and trying to help the kids and me get back to some semblance of normality. I looked to my friends who also were praying for me and trying to help the kids and me.
I also received unsolicited advice from folks who didn’t know me but “knew what I was going through”: I was told to grieve it all out …. I was told to feel sorry for myself …. I was told to bemoan my fate.
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The reality is that the best advice I got was from the prayers everyone was saying and the help of my pastor who loved and knew the kids and me was the best support I could have gotten.
Why did God take Mike? Why not? In fact, as Catholics we should be happy that our loved ones are no longer suffering in this vale of tears. When I looked outside myself and looked at Mike’s situation, I realized that God was VERY merciful – he took a very athletic high school teacher and coach with a debilitating illness and released him quickly, quietly and easily. Mike would have HATED being confined to a wheelchair or a bed – not being able to coach soccer or football, not being able to play softball and basketball, not being able to race across the classroom with chalk in hand to cheer when a kid “got” the algebra problem. God was merciful.
Why did God leave me a widow at 30 and my kids orphans at age of 3 and 1? Why not?
When I stopped bemoaning my fate and started to look at my life, I realized that God was being merciful with me – he was giving me a chance to change some things and make me a better person. I was working too much in my corporate job. I wasn’t eating properly and smoking too much. The kids were in daycare and we were running from pillar to post, living the American dream, but not living a very Catholic life. We were attending Mass on Sundays but that’s all we had time for.
God was giving me a chance to change for the better.
About a year after Mike died (ALL the pundits say not to make any radical changes until at least a year goes by), the kids and I bought a new house and moved into a new (better) neighborhood. We started to attend a parish that was actively Catholic and where we knew lots of the people. Then, when Joe was getting ready to start kindergarten, I gave up my corporate job. The kids needed me, I needed the kids, and we needed to get on track with our faith.
I started helping at Church and Joe’s parochial school. After a year or so, I began teaching computers at the school and becoming more and more involved in our Church. But I wasn’t doing anything for myself. This was a mistake. I was the “widow” and I didn’t date or even seek male company. I just couldn’t start again.
About five years after Mike’s death, I knew I needed to jump-start my life. We were living in a very up-scale, suburban neighborhood – but as I became more and more Catholic, I began to see the emptiness of this lifestyle. I turned to God and prayed for guidance. Where should I go? What should I do? What would serve the kids and me the best? I knew I couldn’t do anything without God’s graces.
God led me through an amazing series of coincidences to another state, another parochial school and parish, and to another love. I met and married a strong Catholic man who willingly adopted my two orphans and we have three more children of our own. God is good and merciful.
In 1995, Fr. Benedict Groeschel wrote a book, Arise From Darkness: What to Do When Life Doesn’t Make Sense. I wish I had this book when Mike died (about three years earlier). I did read this book when it came out, and still go back to it when others ask me about how to handle the death of a spouse. The best advice Fr. Groeschel gives for any kind of grieving is in the last chapter, titled aptly enough “The Remedy that Always Works”. In the good Father’s own words:
…we find it all too appealing to step back into the cave of self-pity and lick our wounds… but it is absolutely unhelpful and flies in the face of both the example and the words of Christ. …The first step in time of distress is to go back to your duties – to care for those who depend on you…. The next step is to respond to the special needs of those who are desperate or in grief themselves. (pg 147-149)
I had done all the “right things” without knowing it. I can only attribute this to the great prayer warriors who were with me through the process, but most especially to God’s graces and mercies.
I was always a believer in the adage, “God doesn’t close a door, without first opening a window.” So seek the window – look for the good in the bad and keep forging ahead. Trust in God’s mercy and His power to see you through the deep darkness.
Fr. Groeschel makes an excellent statement in his book suggesting:
Don’t run away from death. Don’t fight death. And when death is stealing someone close to you, for heaven’s sake, pray. Pray long, pray well, pray even desperately, pray from the depths of your heart.
Pray that your loved one is in Heaven or on the path – and, as Fr. Groeschel points out, we know what heaven will look like because we have it in the Bible. Revelations 20:11-21 and 21:1-7 spell it all out.
Pray for yourself and your loved ones left behind – pray that God will show you the good behind the sorrow … the window behind the closed door. Read the words of Isaiah 41:10:
Fear not, for I am with you, be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.
The last lines of Fr. Groeschel’s book are the clincher:
When all is said and done, the most powerful things ever written about suffering, sorrow, and death are in the Sacred Scriptures. This is why every year during Holy Week the Church brings us through the solemn commemoration of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. (pg. 182)
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Loss of a Parent
Alice
I am holding your sweater on my lap now, Dad, stroking its homely roughness and admiring each finely-wrought woolen stitch, musing about how well this one article of clothing embodies the man I miss so much. The intricate pattern of scarlet and green threads reminds me of one of your stories, woven with an eye for detail and a heart for beauty, more often than not brimming over with laughter and good cheer. Plain wooden buttons line up in front--dependable, wholesome, hardworking, strong and true--as simple and down to earth as you were. A tag reads, "Made in Ireland, 100% Pure New Wool." For all that you were born in Queens, Dad, you seemed "Made in Ireland" to me--the pure new wool of the first generation born to hopeful immigrants.
In my mind's eye, I see you sitting comfortably in that sweater and sinking into the couch. My children--your pride and joy--are crowding round you, a merry circle laughing gaily. Patrick holds up one of his toy fish, and you examine it with the interest and eye of a fisherman, pleased to see that your only grandson is so like yourself. Catherine and Eileen bounce upon your knee, the little granddaughters you did not meet on this earth, but would have doted upon. Your eye meets mine with a twinkle that says, "They are beautiful"--we always saw eye to eye, didn't we, Dad? The four older girls, taller now, but still every bit as adoring as ever, dance around you and beg for a story, asking if you remember how to play "dancing feet."
Ah, Dad, you were such a loss to them.
Often, when I think of you, my thoughts drift back to your final words to me. Baby Patrick's blood work had come back clear and you were so glad--so perfectly happy. "I told you," you said, "that he is perfect! He is a perfect little boy, God bless him! There wasn't a thing to worry about. Never was there a more perfect little boy." For someone who hadn't been worrying, you sounded awfully relieved, and you hung up the phone with an elated, "I love you, honey. Thanks so much for letting us know." That was so like you.
Two days later, I was in your closet selecting a blue pin-striped suit and the tie flecked with Irish harps, with a small voice inside my head crying, "Daddy, where are you? Where are you?"
I still hear the plaintive call in my heart sometimes, and I think I always will hear it. It is the voice of a child who will never stop missing her father--a child who would never want to stop missing her father, for to stop missing him might feel too much like losing him altogether.
It is a heavenly and insistent reminder to pray for his soul.
What a great grief it is to lose a parent--it is a sudden and sorrowful chilling of the heart, with smaller pains trickling in like icy drops at odd times: when you are alone in the hospital with a beautiful new baby and wonder what Papa would have thought of her; when your mother arrives alone for Christmas dinner; when your son develops an inexplicable passion for fish, too late to be groomed and encouraged by the only other fisherman in the family; when you try to recall the details of one of the familiar old stories, but can't, remembering that the faithful storyteller lies as mute as a harp hung upon the wall.
Yet, as painful as this is, we know our beloved parents are not gone, and these little hurts should, if anything, help us feel closer to them. If we can only remember to pray, our dear ones can never really be far from us, for it is through our prayers that we continue to embrace them always--and our mothers and fathers know this. The prayers we raise from the depths of our hearts are never one sided.
Dear, Lord Jesus, you once mourned the loss of your foster father, St. Joseph. Comfort us in our grief as we bid farewell to our dear mother or father. Welcome our parents into heaven, remembering their goodness and sacrifices for us throughout their lives. Grant them eternal rest in the arms of Your Holy Mother, and help us to remain good and holy and true so that we will be a credit to them and may one day find ourselves reunited in an eternal and joyful embrace.
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
Immaculate Heart of Mary, pray for us.
Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us.
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Death of a Pet
Dawn
“They too, are created by the same loving hand of God which Created us...It is our duty to protect them and to promote their well-being.” ~ Mother Teresa
Owning a pet means caring for its needs from beginning to end. It is our honor and duty to care for our animals in every stage of their life - when it is fun and when it isn't. And at the end of their lives, it is often our greatest expression of love to say goodbye in a way that is, above all, kind. But as we go through the process of saying goodbye to our pets, we mothers are aware of the little eyes watching - the tender hearts breaking in the wings. Often this is our children's first and most intimate experience with death.
Growing up I always had pets. And when their lives came to pass, it was devastating. It was the saddest thing I could comprehend in my young and innocent life. I missed my little friend, the companion who was at once my protector and my precious charge. Now grown, with more life and experience behind me, you would think the pain of losing a beloved pet would be less. It’s not really less, though it is different.
I once said to my vet, that when I became a mother everything else in the world adjusted accordingly. As mothers it is our job to take care of our families - and we do - but we must not forget to take care of our own grief.
When our Patty Cat passed away recently, there were details to address and arrangements to be made. There was a little cat to hold in my arms one last time, whose fur I stroked while he slowly fell, peacefully, asleep. And yet, back home, there were little hearts to console - so like my own years ago. I wanted to crawl into bed and have a good cry, but my little ones needed me more. As mothers, we must find a way to grieve that is healthy for us as well as our children. And following grief, there must be remembrance - in ways that are meaningful and helpful to the whole family.
It is comforting to think, that, loving and caring for our pets as we have done, we have walked along the path of St. Francis ...
"All creatures are created from the same paternal heartbeat of God. Not to hurt our humble brethren is our first duty to them, but to stop here is a complete misapprehension of the intentions of providence. We have a higher mission. God wishes that we should assist them when they require it." ~ St Francis of Assisi
Well, this is what you have done for your pet all his life. You fed him when he was hungry. You cleaned up his messes. You held him when we was lonely. Your beloved pet knew love, thanks to you.
A Prayer For Animals by St. Francis of Assisi
God Our Heavenly Father, You created the world to serve humanity's needs and to lead them to You. By our own fault we have lost the beautiful relationship which we once had with all your creation. Help us to see that by restoring our relationship with You we will also restore it with all Your creation. Give us the grace to see all animals as gifts from You and to treat them with respect for they are Your creation. We pray for all animals who are suffering as a result of our neglect. May the order You originally established be once again restored to the whole world through the intercession of the Glorious Virgin Mary, the prayers of Saint Francis and the merits of Your Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ Who lives and reigns with You now and forever. Amen.
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Death of an Extended Family Member
Janette
I lost my paternal grandfather when I was 10. He was not the first loss that I had experienced, but he was the first I really understood and keenly felt. Night after night after his death, I silently cried, grieving over his absence. He lived so far away, and I had not had a chance to say goodbye.
Over and over, I knelt in my bed once the lights were out and all was quiet. I cried and called his name, waving my arms in the air before me in an effort to grasp him one last time, to hug my grandpa close and say goodbye. And God our Father, who loves us so and always hears our cries, took pity on me. One night as I reached out from my bed to hug the air, my grandpa was there. My arms briefly wrapped around his invisible body, and he squeezed me close to him, and then he was gone. God had granted the prayer of a broken hearted little girl, and I was finally able to give thanks and be glad that He had taken my dear one to a better place.
Many years have passed since that day and still I cry when I think of my grandpa. But now the tears are ones of thanksgiving – thanksgiving to God for His compassion towards a little girl who was struggling to let go, and thanksgiving to that God for taking my beloved grandpa Home.
I have lost other dear ones in my family since that time so long ago. Each loss has been painful. Each loss has had its own goodbye. Each loss, I hope and pray, has brought someone I love closer to Home.
O gentlest heart of Jesus, ever present in the Blessed Sacrament, ever consumed with burning love for the poor captive souls in Purgatory, have mercy on the soul of Thy departed servant. Be not severe in Thy judgment but let some drops of Thy Precious Blood fall upon the devouring flames, and do Thou, O merciful Saviour, send Thy angels to conduct Thy departed servant to a place of refreshment, light and peace. Amen.
May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
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