And Now We are Six....

I came from a family of eleven children, one of whom died right before birth. The rest of us grew to adulthood: six girls and four boys. Daddy was in the Navy so we moved every three or four years, changing houses and schools, making new friends. After we grew up and began our own families, we shared many holidays together: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, 4th of July. I can still smell the eye roast Daddy made on the rotisserie grill, a staple of many holiday meals.

One sister and I homeschooled for a time. We took our children on field trips: to explore Chincateague and its curious combination of salt water and fresh water marshes, to Philadelphia and the freedom trail, to the Outer Banks for summer vacations. The family really is the village that raises the children.

We all shared our grief when our parents died, my dad in 1985 and my mom in 2002. There is an inevitably of subtraction in life. For years our family grew, and grew, and grew. My parents had thirty plus grandchildren and the number of great grandchildren is beyond my counting. My husband and I have twenty-seven of the grandchildren plus the littlest ones who died before birth. But now we are in the phase of loss.  Three of my four brothers are gone and Jeanne, the first of the women, has passed on to eternal life. 

Jeanne, died on July 24th after a long decline. Even though we knew her death was approaching, the actual event was unexpected. Larry and I visited every week, a three and a half hour round trip to Frederick when the traffic was normal and sometimes a five hour trip when Interstate 81 had a disaster. 

We were planning to visit on Friday. The Hospice nurse called me Wednesday to say she had a good visit with my sister. Jeanne was engaged and chatting and let her take her vitals. She wasn't always so cooperative. The wound nurse came in to check on her foot later that afternoon. She said they joked a little. So when I got the call at 6:30 Friday morning it was unexpected, so unexpected that my thoughts did not go immediately to Jeanne despite the phone ringing so early. I thought when she went we would have a chance to go to Frederick and be by her bedside, be able to accompany her on that last journey to the door of our true home. 

It wasn't to be. God, in His Divine Providence, had another plan. Our ten is now six. I pray we all meet merrily in heaven, but only God knows the final disposition of a soul. So, as Mary urged the children at Fatima, we pray for the eternal salvation of Jeanne and all of our loved ones who have gone before us.

I was grateful that I asked my pastor to come a few months ago and anoint her. He preached a sermon saying we should not wait to receive the sacrament until the loved one is comatose. Ideally, they should be able to make a good confession and be aware of what they are doing. And so we arranged it. Father came another time with two seminarians and a box of ice cream. It was incredibly sweet to see how Jeanne was charmed by his attention and kindness. She asked me several times about him later. The last time I had to tell her he had been reassigned to the seminary in Minnesota and she would not see him again. 

The past ten days since Jeanne's death have been challenging what with clearing out her room at the nursing home, helping my niece who lives three states away plan the funeral, meeting with the funeral director and the priest, traveling back and forth to Frederick, being sleep deprived through it all. I dreamed about forgetting things and looking desperately for them. Where's the photo for the wake? What did I do with all the papers my niece needs? Where are the death certificates I collected from the funeral director?

Things are quieting down now and I can begin to process it all. Today on an early morning walk just after sunrise I watched the mist shrouding the mountain and resting over the river. All was quiet. A bunny hopped by and a doe saw me and ambled slowly farther into the woods. As the sun climbed higher it sent rays through the trees like grace coming from the hands of Christ. When I walked east the sun was so bright I could hardly see. Everything else disappeared in its brilliance. And I thought, "That's how it is when we gaze at the Son of God. All of our worries and anxieties disappear in the brilliance of our Savior."

Please pray for the repose of my sister's soul. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.  Amen.