God only knows...

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my son's marriage. In one way, it seems like it was just yesterday, and in another, it seems as though they have always been married. In any case, I truly believe that our daughter-in-law was a special gift from God to Aaron and to us. She is perfect for our son. They fit together and it is obvious to anyone around them that their marriage was meant to be.

I saw a photo Aaron posted on Twitter of the gift Anna had given him for their anniversary. She had handmade a note that read, "God only knows what I'd be without you" taken from the Beach Boys song. It struck me right in the heart. So intimate, yet so profound. I think it sums up the true love between a wife and her husband. I know I feel that way about my husband, and now someone special feels that way about our son.

I think Aaron would probably say that the reverse is true, too. I hope Richard would say that about me. I pray for them and their marriage every day. I am so happy that my son has this amazing young woman in his life. I am grateful to God that her parents let us share her. And that God has been gracious enough to give us another "daughter" in our daughter-in-law.

I think if I could rewrite that song, I would say, "God only knows what we'd be without you..."

I read the news today, oh boy...

The news lately has been so depressing. First the shootings in Colorado, and then the Sikh Temple shooting. A lot has been said about gun control both in the media and in front of the water cooler.

The shootings in Colorado and in the Sikh Temple are so absolutely horrendous it is hard to even talk about them. My heart is broken for the parents who lost sons and daughters in these senseless acts. Because of one man's horrible actions, dozens of families and friends have lost loved ones.

How can anyone justify the loss of innocent lives when folks are just going out for a night at the movies or to their own temple for a religious service? A person who can take lives as though they mean nothing is clearly insane and evil. Heated discussions on gun control have certainly ensued after these events.

I go back to what a friend, who just happened to be a policeman, always said: "Guns don't kill people. People kill people." That, I believe is the bottom line. I don't know what the answer is in terms of gun control. We need to keep guns out of the hands of criminals, but how do we do that, exactly? What about hunters? How about our right to bear arms? These questions absolutely overwhelm me as a Christian.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches:

"God created man a rational being, conferring on him the dignity of a person who can initiate and control his own actions. God willed that man should be ‘left in the hand of his own counsel,’ so that he might of his own accord seek his Creator and freely attain his full and blessed perfection by cleaving to him. Man is rational and therefore like God; he is created with free will and is master over his acts."  

"As long as freedom has not bound itself definitively to its ultimate good which is God, there is the possibility of choosing between good and evil, and thus of growing in perfection or of failing and sinning. This freedom characterizes properly human acts. It is the basis of praise or blame, merit or reproach. The more one does what is good, the freer one becomes. There is no true freedom except in the service of what is good and just. The choice to disobey and do evil is an abuse of freedom and leads to “the slavery of sin.” 

I pray for an end to all violence, and for the sanctity of all life. Lord, hear our prayer.

Our blessings increase

This past week has been an exciting time for us. July 10 was our 30th wedding anniversary. We had decided that this year would be a good time to renew our wedding vows, so we did that during mass this past Sunday.

My son and his wife came from Birmingham on Friday evening to spend the weekend. My daughter-in-law's sweet parents came to support us, too. We had a great day on Saturday visiting with them and sharing stories and fellowship.

The ceremony on Sunday morning was just beautiful. Our pastor was so wonderful. He called up our son and daughter-in-law for a family blessing after the ceremony.  

We had placed flowers in the sanctuary, and bought a beautiful cake and flowers for our church family to celebrate with us after mass in the fellowship hall. After mass, my husband and son surprised me by singing a song for me. It was the song, "I Wouldn't Change You If I Could" by Ricky Skaggs. My sweet husband played the guitar and my son played his mandolin. They had spent a lot of time practicing to learn the song. It is one of the best gifts I ever got.

The day was, like most other special occasions, bittersweet, because Lauren was not there. Missing your child on a special family occasion is a part of every grieving parent's life. But I think this day, like my son's wedding day last year, was more sweet than bitter. I have come to realize that even though Lauren is not here physically, she is always with us. I believe that and it gives me peace. 

Moment by moment

On a mundane trip to Walmart the other night, I had what I call a "Lauren moment." They come quite often, and usually very unexpectedly. I'll bet most grieving parents experience these same types of moments. Some ordinary, everyday thing will trigger a strong feeling or memory. I know these moments happen to anyone who has lost a loved one, but I think those of us who have lost children probably experience them in a more intense way. I believe that is true for me.  It's like a sharp physical pain for me. It sometimes stays with me for days, other times I get through it quickly.

The moment started when I saw the school supplies. My first reaction was, "Already? It's just July!" But there they were: the supply lists for the schools. Lauren was one of those kids who never procrastinated when it came to school. She might take forever to clean her room, but if the teacher gave her an assignment that involved a poster board and markers, we would be at Walmart the day it was assigned, even if it wasn't due for weeks. I don't think I ever had to say, "Lauren, do your homework!" It was done and perfect before I could even ask. 

The school supplies were very important to her. She had to have them the first day the list appeared in Walmart. Everything on that list had to be bought and brought home so she could get them organized and ready for school. I took her to Walmart her senior year to buy school supplies, even though she could drive. Mama had to take her. That's the way it was.

There wasn't much traffic in the school supply aisle the other night, but I couldn't bring myself to walk through there. The moment stayed with me for a while. 

I know there will be many other moments like that until the day I die, or I'm too old to remember them. I hope I am never too old or feeble to remember her that clearly and closely. That way, she is never far away from me. 

"Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address." Joe Fox, "You've Got Mail." 

The way we got through

At least three times in the last few months someone has told me what an inspiration we were to them because of the way we reacted to Lauren's death. And every time someone says something like that, I am always shocked. I find it hard to imagine that people feel that way about us, but I am always so grateful to them for their kind words.  Often, I walk away wondering what they mean, though.

Usually I recount our experience trying to get through the night Lauren died.  My husband and I were up all night. We were almost in a daze, alternately crying and trying to figure out how to survive without her. At one point, we decided what our plan would be. We began to ask ourselves what Lauren would want us to do. Would she want us to crawl under a rock? No. To turn to drink or drugs? No. Would she want us NOT to take care of her brother? Absolutely not. Would she want us to abandon our faith? NO!

We became more focused- We spent the next week surrounded by the support of our family and friends, our priests and our church family and our wonderful community. We were able to hold on to each another and to our son and our God, and walk- one foot in front of the other- to honor our daughter and her memory. We made that our goal- that people would not forget the lovely child of God that she was, and that through her memory, we would minister to others who lost their children and endow her scholarship to help other college students.

I realize now that it was our faith in God that took us through. As my sweet husband said, "Why should I be angry at God? He is the only one who can help me!" I am blown away by his deep relationship with God.

When someone comments on our strength, or how we were such an inspiration, I am quick to remind them that I have no strength of my own. It all comes from God. My childhood friend, Joel, who has suffered with kidney disease since birth, has a signature on his e-mail that reads, "I'll point to Jesus and say he is why I am here." I think he has the right idea.

The Church teaches that we are to be Christ to others. What a great challenge! I fall short of that challenge every day. But every day, I try. I hope people can see him in me.

Finding Easter again

This Easter my husband and I added another sweet child to our "bouquet" of godchildren. Our precious Lacy was fully received into the faith on Easter Vigil.

Lacy is the preteen granddaughter of our best friends Steve and Dawn.  Her parents, Cory and Jackie, were friends with our son Aaron and our daughter Lauren. Our families are intertwined through our faith and the love that we share with each other.

Steve sponsored our son Aaron for his Confirmation. When we asked Aaron why he chose Mr. Steve, he spoke of his great admiration and respect for Steve and the husband and father that he was. When it was Lauren's turn for Confirmation, she chose Dawn. She loved Dawn like another mother. My shy, reserved daughter related to Dawn's quiet demeanor and her sweet spirit. She was very much like Dawn in that way.

On the day of Lauren's funeral, Steve and Dawn were at the lectern reading the Word. They were there supporting us in our time of need, like families do.

During Lent, I was able to attend a couple of retreats with Lacy. Watching her learn the faith and being able to talk to her about the Eucharist, our greatest and most precious gift was such a blessing to me. Our Easter Vigil with Lacy was like having my birthday, Christmas and Valentine's Day all rolled into one. It was such a sweet and moving mass, and seeing her baptized, confirmed and receiving Jesus for the first time in Communion helped me truly find Easter again.

I think we forget the meaning of Easter and take it for granted. Is it a day to get a new outfit? Plan an Easter Egg hunt? See how much candy we can fit into our kids' basket? Do we really listen when the Passion is read and do we remember the tragedy and the victory of those four days?

Seeing Lacy come into the Church was the reminder I needed to focus on that glorious time.

Soon, we will baptize our dear friend Michelle's grandson Easton. Yet another child will be added to our "bouquet." Our family grows, and our faith is revived.

Dermot, our wild Irish rose

I've been working on a project lately. I am going through pictures for my son. I want him to know who the people in his family and among his friends are in the photos, so I am  categorizing and labeling them for him. Seeing pictures of my daughter is particularly hard for me sometimes. My precious friend Dawn worries about me going through these pictures all alone, but I have to do it sometime. It may as well be now.

This week, I found some pictures of our sweet priest/friend, Fr. Dermot Twomey, SCJ. He passed away four years ago today on March 25, 2008.

He was more than just a priest to me. He was my friend, and he was absolutely a father to me. What a precious soul he was. I loved him fiercely, as did many in our parish. He truly was Christ to us in so many ways.

I learned to love his community, the Priests of the Sacred Heart, or Dehonians, and their charism. They are such precious men and their work is so special. If not for them, we in North Mississippi would have to drive to Memphis or somewhere out of our way to worship and receive our Lord in the Eucharist. They started our parishes and have served us to this day.

Fr. Dermot was a tall, lanky Irishman with wild hair and a quirky sense of humor who loved the Lord above all. It was evident, especially, when he was in the midst of a homily. It was like a light was shining on his face when he taught us.

We used to see him almost every time we went to the casino in Tunica. He was never in the gaming area, but was always at the buffet, with a group of elderly women who were Irish Travelers. He ministered to that group all the time.

One day I came to him and told him I had seen a church just outside of town that was offering Spanish-speaking services. That same week, someone who knew I was Catholic asked me if I knew about the "new Mexican Catholic church in town." After explaining that Catholic churches don't just "pop-up" out of nowhere, I went to Father. He and I discussed the fact that we felt the Spanish-speaking community in Tate County might be lost to us if we did not reach out to them and let them know we were there. We started offering a Spanish mass on Saturday evening. Today, every mass at our parish is  bilingual, and our church family has nearly doubled.

He came to bring the host to my mother and father-in-law who were visiting us, and not able to come to mass, due to physical limitations. He even went to visit my in-laws when he went on a trip to see a brother-priest in Las Vegas where they lived.

On his birthday one year, we had a big parish party for him, and I was able to get a Celtic musician friend to come and perform. He danced the Irish jig in the Church Hall that night. Later, he said, "It felt like being back home." I think it really made him happy.





Fr. Dermot came to us when Lauren died. He was heart-broken I know. Lauren was his special friend at church. He loved her and always said what a special girl she was. He stayed strong for us, and was flexible enough to understand that our little parish was not large enough for the funeral, so he agreed to bring an altar to the Fine Arts Auditorium at Northwest to accommodate the many people who came. He celebrated her funeral mass and it was as lovingly done as her wedding might have been because of him.

When Father got sick, it nearly broke our hearts. He kept going as long as he could, running from one parish to another, serving us like he always had. A few weeks before he finally retired, he called me out of the blue. After talking about how he was feeling, he finally got around to the reason for his call. I realized after listening to him for a minute that he was asking me, in so many words, if I thought it was ok for him to leave. It had nothing to do with ego. He loved our parishes so much that he did not want to disappoint us. He wanted me to tell him it was ok, I think. I told him that we loved him and that we wanted him to get well most of all, and it was ok for him to rest. He had served us and the Church well.
He thanked me and gave me his blessing.

I keep his picture on my dresser. I think of him and miss him every day. Before I met Fr. Dermot, I had never really known a priest personally. He made me realize what a gift the priesthood is to all of us. I have a deep devotion to his community and try to support them through prayer and donations as often as I am able.

In the past few years, I have come to know several younger priests in his community. They are all wonderful men, and I know their brother Dermot would be so proud of them.