When you say nothing at all...

It's been a while since I posted, and because of that I am really bummed out. I have these spells when I truly have nothing to say. Really. I think there are lots of things that need to be said, but for the life of me, I just can't think of anything. Sometimes I wonder if I just use up all my words with my job.

Last time I posted, we had been to South Carolina on my Spring Break and it was Lent.

We got back and the next thing I knew it was Holy Week and we were celebrating our Lord's Resurrection with our new pope. It was a beautiful week with three neophytes coming into the church.

But something strange happened that week, too.  One of our priests, Fr. Duy Nguyen, SCJ, was the celebrant at our parish for the week. (We are one of five churches served by the Priests of the Sacred Heart, U.S. (SCJs)  in North Mississippi.) This June, Fr. Duy will celebrate the second anniversary of his ordination. He is a wonderful young man, and this was his second Holy Week with us. We had a beautiful mass on Holy Thursday.

I was off on Good Friday, and while I was waiting for Richard to come home, I stopped by WalMart for a bit of shopping. I was walking by the greeting cards when I had an overwhelming feeling come over me that I should buy an Easter card for Fr. Duy. ( Now mind you, I have NEVER bought a Christmas or Easter card, or any other kind of card for a priest before.) I just knew at that moment it was something I had to do. So I bought him a card and decided to leave it in the sacristy for him to find. Instead of Happy Easter, I thanked him for his vocation, told him we were praying for him and that he would always be loved by my family.

I put the card in the sacristy after Good Friday service, while everyone else was in adoration. I did not think anything more of it. I wasn't even sure he got it. We had choir practice on Saturday morning and I peeked into the sacristy and sure enough it was gone.

Saturday evening came and it was time for Vigil. What a beautiful mass it was. It's my favorite time- the darkness and the light... The stripped down altar is redecorated in beautiful white, and you know that Christ has risen indeed.

After mass, I did not see Fr. Duy, but a friend told me he had just told them he had been reassigned to  the SCJ church in Houston, and tomorrow would be his last mass at our church. I was shocked about the move, but more shocked by what I had done. I had not understood my desire to send him that card at the time, but at that minute I realized why it had to be done.

Then I started freaking out thinking he might wonder how I knew he was leaving and trying to figure out how I could have known. I texted him right away to explain what happened, and it was so late, I did not hear back from him.

The next morning, which was Easter morning, I finally got a chance to talk with Father. He was a bit surprised by the card, but took it all in stride. He did say it was exactly what he needed to hear at exactly the right time. I think it was hard for him to have to say goodbye to our parish. It was really hard for all of us, I know.

I am still puzzled by the incident with the card. I would like to think that I was "listening" to God, but I'm not anywhere near that holy- that he would speak to me. I hope I will be one day. I will just trust that I was in the right place at the right time so that he could use me to let a young priest who was headed on a new journey know that there are people in his corner.

It made me think of a line in that Keith Whitley song, "You say it best when you say nothing at all."

Fr. Duy and me after Easter Sunday Mass. 

Fr. Duy always teased me about taking pictures of everything.
He hammed it up for my camera at Easter breakfast. 

Rediscovering my roots

Last week, I was off on Spring Break. I took a trip with my husband, son and daughter-in-law to my home state of South Carolina. The kids were able to stay for 4 days, and my husband and I spent the whole week there.

My daughter-in-law had not met my whole family, so we wanted to take her to visit. We had a big family dinner on Sunday, and Anna visited with those family members who had not been able to attend the wedding.

We took the kids to my old home place, my high school, which is now closed, and to visit the grave sites of our family members who have passed on. We took the kids to visit the small town of Landrum to visit their antique shops, and took in the revitalized downtown area of Greenville, S.C. We shopped, ate and had a great time. On the last night before the kids left, we had a great meal with four of my high school friends and their families. 

It was an opportunity for Anna to see her husband's maternal family roots and for me to revisit those roots. On many of our trips to South Carolina, I get caught up with visits to family and friends, and I don't think I really look at the place I was born and raised. On this visit, I really looked at the places I had been and the people I loved and love through fresh eyes.

My brother Andre and me

The kids and my husband standing on what is left of my childhood home. 

Family dinner

Out in the front of my old high school, which is now the city hall and police department in my hometown.

Aaron and Anna with my niece Leslie. 

My brother and sister-in-law.

My son and daughter-in-law with my high school buddies' children

The smokestack in the mill in my hometown. This is all that is left of the place my grandfather worked for 50 years. 

The house where I went to kindergarten.

In front of my old high school. My mother's class was the first in this building. She helped write our Alma Mater. 

I probably marched 1,000 miles on this field in my high school band. 

High school friends. 

Freelance feature: Same place, Different time

Blogger's note: I am taking a departure from my normal blog activity to share a freelance feature I wrote  this past week. It is about two men from our church. It was published in our local newspaper this week. 

Same Place, Different Time

When New Yorker Nelson Rosado walked into Jerry Thaggard’s barbershop in his new 

hometown of Senatobia for the first time, he had no idea he would reconnect with a part of his own history. He had crossed paths with the man behind the barber chair in the past, but he didn’t know it yet. 

Rosado and Thaggard both attend St. Gregory’s Catholic Church. When Rosado came into the shop that day, Thaggard recognized him from church, although Rosado did not recognize Thaggard. 

Rosado did notice that there was a Marine emblem on the door. He asked if anyone had been in the Marines, and Thaggard replied that he had. It would take a few more visits to the shop for the two men to discover that they had gone through basic training in the same platoon at the Parris Island, S.C. Marine Corps Recruit Depot 55 years earlier. 

The two men could not be any more different. Thaggard is a soft-spoken Mississippian who grew up in Neshoba County in the Tucker community near Philadelphia. Rosado, a native of Puerto Rico, is animated as he speaks, often making jokes and spinning interesting tales for those around him. 

Thaggard comes from a large Catholic family of seven boys and four girls whose property joined the Choctaw reservation. His childhood friend, Phillip Martin, was chief of the Choctaws for many years. His father worked for the railroad, and his mother was a homemaker. He graduated from Philadelphia High School in May, 1957 and in June began his three-year active duty stint in the Marines. After basic training, he went to Camp LeJeune, N.C. where he became a machine gunner and rifle range instructor. In 1958 he was transferred to the U.S. Naval Retraining Command, a federal prison in Portsmouth, N.H.,  where he worked as a guard and as a cross-country chaser. 

After his time in the Marines, Thaggard returned to Mississippi and attended barber college in Jackson. He came to Senatobia to work. “B.L. Hogan and Pop Taylor were partners in a barber shop here and I came to work for them at the City Barber Shop. I opened my barber shop with my brother James in 1963,” Thaggard said. “We called our shop Big T’s Barber Shop because it represented both of us.” 

He met his wife, the former Frances Patrick, when a customer’s wife, who worked with her at a local bank, introduced them. They were married in 1965 and are the parents of three daughters, Cathy Moore, Marcia Thaggard and Jeri Yow. They have four grandchildren. 

Rosado moved from his native Puerto Rico at two years old. His father was already in New York working as a cook at the Winthrop Hotel. His mother, a homemaker, took care of the family of six children. Rosado attended the High School of Music and Art in Manhattan, studying Graphic Art. After high school, he enlisted in the Marines for a two-year stint in the reserves and headed to Parris Island. He later added another year to his duty, after finding out he’d have to return to Parris Island if he were called up. He was assigned to the motor pool. “The funny thing was, I couldn’t drive and I didn’t know how to work on vehicles, either. Go figure,” Rosado said, laughing. After a year, he transferred to a job as a supply clerk at Marine headquarters in Camp LeJeune, N.C.

In 1958, his unit headed to Beruit, Lebanon to assist during the threat of civil war between Maronite Christians and Muslims. Rosado never got on the shore, as the trouble there was over when they arrived.  “I was on the second ship and it was over when we got there. We headed back to the U.S. by way of Puerto Rico. We landed in San Juan. I was on mess hall duty and could not get off the ship. I was the only Puerto Rican on the ship and all I could do was watch from the deck. I couldn’t believe it,” Rosado said. 

After his time in the Marines, he returned to New York to take advantage of his educational benefits, only to find out that the legislature had suspended them. He wanted to go to college, but his father could not afford to send him. The benefits were later reinstated but he had already found a job as a graphic artist and worked for a company until 1974 when he opened his own business. That same year, he married a friend of his sister-in-law’s, Linda Velasquez, who was also from the Bronx. They are the parents of two children, Ricardo and Monica, and two grandsons. 

Even though the two men were in basic training together, they did not remember each other from their time spent together at Parris Island. “There was no fraternizing with each other,” Rosado said. “I had a classmate there, and we only said hello once the whole time. We were always standing at attention, running, eating, sleeping. There was just no time to make friends.” 

Today, the two former platoon mates not only worship in church together, they have formed a friendship. Rosado has shared his Marine memorabilia with Thaggard, whose platoon photograph and book had been damaged. They can frequently be heard at church and at the barbershop greeting each other with a hearty “Semper Fi!” 

Thaggard

Rosado

The two friends today. 

Forward in February

February has been full of changes.

We finally finished at least part of one of our 2013 projects - cleaning out Lauren's room. All of her "treasures" are stored carefully and locked up tightly, and I feel a bit better now. Both the kids' rooms are cleaned out and we have shopped around for paint colors and flooring choices. We have decided to make her room into a mini-music studio where her dad can play his guitars, I can play the piano and we can record some music. I think Lauren would have liked that a lot. Aaron's room will be a second guest room so we can entertain more family or friends who come to stay. This is another healing step in our difficult journey.

Our Holy Father surprised all of us early in the month when he announced his resignation. I woke up to the news early that morning, and thought I was dreaming. Resign? Popes don't do that, do they? Can they? It turns out they can and they have in the past, even if the last time was almost 600 years ago. I've learned more about the papacy in the past few weeks than I have ever known, and I have been a Catholic for nearly 30 years. When I went to mass in Italy last fall, I realized our church was universal, both liturgically and culturally. The pope's resignation caused me to read a lot about the history of the papacy and helped me realize this church is indeed 2,000 years old, reaching back to when Jesus handed the "keys" to his "Rock" St. Peter. Now we have a conclave (I love how the word comes from the Latin "clavis"or key). I have been in the very room where the Cardinals will convene and choose the next pope. I feel blessed to have been there. I pray that the Holy Spirit will guide them in this most important decision as our church moves forward.

As we move through Lent, we look forward to the celebration of Easter, our March Spring Break trip to S.C. with the kids, and the coming of spring.

That dreaded day

We both knew it would come, but we dreaded it just the same. We knew that one day, we would need to clean out Lauren's room. Our son is married now and has his own home. One day, we will need to have those bedrooms for grandchildren who come to visit.

So we set out last weekend, with the help of our son, to begin that process. We have cried, we have laughed, we have remembered and we have rejoiced. Instead of making us miserable, it has really helped us to rediscover our daughter, and keep her memory where it should be and always will be at all times- in our hearts.

Lauren was a real girly girl. She had more fingernail polish, makeup, hairbows, costume jewelry, purses, shoes and photos than even I remembered. The dominant themes in her room were stars and butterflies. She loved Tinkerbell and Blink 182. She was a big fan of the Godfather movies (her Italian heritage that she really loved), Harry Potter, The Chronicles of Narnia and the Beatles.  She inherited her love for the Beatles from her mom (just like her brother did). She had a million little notes (texting was in its infancy then) from her friends in a little treasure chest. She had prom dresses and school dance dresses. We carefully placed the most important things in bins and sealed them up for safety. We, of course, are nowhere near being through, but we are beginning to see daylight. 

Among all her treasures were some things that gave us great joy and brought us a sense of peace. She had three Bibles among her treasures. Two were teen study Bibles that she had gotten along the way, and one was pretty dog-eared. She had her prayer cards, rosaries and her scapular (which I think came from our friends Bill and Janet Cupo) in her treasures. She loved her Lord and her Catholic faith. 

I jokingly said she might have been a candidate for the show "Hoarders." Of course that's not entirely true, but to us, this is a daunting task. We have given some things to charity. There are things that hold no sentimental value, and we have given them away. 

Whatever we end up doing with her room, we plan to leave some of her things in there as reminders of her. It will always be her room, but as my sweet friend Dawn said, its the natural progression of things- if she were still here, she would have cleaned up her own room and put things away, as our son did when he left home. 

Now her things are put away for her future nieces and nephews to one day enjoy. They will discover their aunt through stories, photos and memories shared by their grandparents and their dad. 

That dreaded day of beginning a painful task has come and gone, and we are able now to handle it a little better. 

And the beat goes on

I've had to talk to a couple of people here lately who have lost children recently. They are still in those first terrible stages - shock, anger, guilt, unspeakable sadness. When I talk to these folks, I try to be honest- I tell them the only thing I can do is hold their hands. No one can make this any better. Time does not heal this wound, and the only thing you can do is remember that you now have a "new' normal and take it one day at a time. It doesn't go away. 

Talking to them is something I feel called to do. I think it is what God expects me to do. But it's tough. I don't think it there will come a time when it isn't tough. I start to remember how I felt and the things that  were hard for me. 

Christmas is always hard. This past Christmas I got an iPad. It started me thinking about all the things that have changed since Lauren died. Social media had not taken off when she passed away. There was MySpace, but Facebook was in its infancy. There was no Twitter, no Instagram and no Pinterest. She never knew what an iPhone, iPad or iPod was.

Thinking about those things brings your loss into sharp relief. No, time did not stand still for the rest of the world like it did for you. The world is still turning and things are moving forward like they always have. 

I don't mean to sound hopeless because I am not. I am only expressing how I feel. God knows my pain and my suffering and the reason why. I just have to trust Him, and I do. 

That's the one thing I try to impress on these poor people, because my faith is what got me through those early days and every day since then. I have to stay strong and I do that through prayer and the support of my family and friends.

God bless those of us in this club that nobody wants to join! 

Trying to make sense of it

This past week has been really tough on most folks in America. The horrible tragedy in Connecticut touched all of us in ways we could not imagine. No one could have guessed that a mere boy, who was  in kindergarten not that long ago himself, could go into an elementary school and murder 20 innocent children. Who could have known that he had murdered his own mother in her bed before he made that dreaded trip to Sandy Hook Elementary School to begin his slaughter? We might have known he would take his own life. That seems to be a growing trend in incidences like these.

This tragedy will be with us for a long time. As soon as I saw President Obama's face on the television, the thought struck me that he looked exactly like President Bush looked on the day of 9/11. The victims were like those in Oklahoma City, in Aurora, in Tucson and the Amish School in Nickel Mines - they were all innocent people going about their daily lives when they met their untimely deaths.

How can we make sense of this? I don't know if I will ever understand how the human mind works. I do believe that there is evil in the world, and that people can become evil and do evil deeds. I do know this: God gives us free will to make our own choices. He allows us to make decisions regarding our lives. Perhaps Mrs. Lanza's decision to try and take care of her son instead of getting him the help he needed was a bad decision. Perhaps she should not have had those guns in the house in such close proximity to her troubled son? Those were my thoughts, as I began to hear about Adam Lanza's troubled existence.

We struggle to find answers. We try to make sense of what happened. We talk about gun control and video games. I believe we have the right, as our Constitution promises, to bear arms. We use guns in our society for protection, for hunting, for competition. I believe we must continue to enforce our laws regarding guns. I grew up in a house with guns and so did my husband and our children. But there were never any accidental shootings and especially none on purpose. That is because we were taught to respect not only the guns, but also the sanctity of human lives.

It was said that Adam Lanza spent countless hours in his basement playing violent video games. I really am ignorant of these games and what they entail, so I really cannot opine on them. I do believe what I read over 20 years ago, however. I read an article that predicted a desensitization of the coming generations due to the graphic violence in movies and television. And that was a long time ago. I worried about my children, and decided it was my job as a parent to control what my children saw. I knew it was impossible to completely shield them from society, so I tried to balance what they saw with reality. I taught them the value of human life.

That comes to my point: I believe what causes many of our problems today is, to coin an old phrase,"the breakdown of the family." We can blame it on working women, divorce or anything else we want, but I believe that no matter what circumstance people find themselves in, if they are good parents, they are good parents.  If their child needs help, they find help for him. They find a way to teach their children right from wrong, to keep them in their sights, and know what they are doing.

God gives us these children for a short amount of time. He allows us to have them so that we can teach them and guide them and love them. We are to show our children the unconditional love God has for us, and discipline them with love. It is our responsibility not to raise them as "friends" but as responsible Christian citizens of this country and this world.

So back to our tragedy- We will not understand Lanza's motive because he has gone to meet his maker now. We must strive to bring comfort to those who have suffered loss, through prayer and support. We must vow to value each human life and teach the coming generations to value life also.

The Hebrew prophet Micah writes: "Ah! you plotters of iniquity, who work out evil on your beds! In the morning light you carry it out for it lies within your power."  That verse really hits home, doesn't it?