In memory of Eric Lentz

Today, we lost a great guy in our small town. He was on his way home on his motorcycle, and there was an accident.

Eric had worked as a highway patrolman for many years. A few years back, he had worked for the Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics, and had done his part to get drugs off the streets.

He was one of those guys you never forgot after you once met him. He was from New York, and had that "Brooklyn" accent.  Sometimes he used colorful language that would make my face turn red, but he always made me laugh. He was a real character. Once you got to know him, you looked forward to hearing what he might say next.

Eric loved women. Simple as that. He appreciated women. He made you feel like you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He just had that way about him. But you always knew that there were two women he truly loved: his lovely wife Angie and his precious daughter Christie. Those were the most important women in his life, and he cherished both of them.

We were both regular blood donors and used to run into each other at the local blood bank, which is no longer here. Eric would come in and as I like to say, "hold court" in there till he had us all in stitches. Everybody loved it when he was there.

He was serious about his work with the bureau of narcotics. He and I worked together on an article on the growing problem of crystal meth in our area. He was very proud to have contributed to that article, hoping to make people aware of this terrible problem. I believe he wanted to do his part to stop the madness he saw, to make the streets safer for his children and for all of our children. He worked undercover for a while, and even changed his appearance somewhat. I teased him that the minute he opened his mouth, anyone would know he wasn't "from around these parts."

He was proud of his beautiful son, Tony. I said he was Eric's "mini-me." I think as we watch Tony grow, that prediction will come true. You could see how much the two of them loved each other.

Eric was a true friend. He never said much to me when I lost Lauren, probably because it was too painful for him. He loved his children and was a wonderful father. I think he imagined what I might be feeling as a parent. He would just give me a hug, or text me and say hi.

I have seen him over the years from time to time in WalMart, at church, at high school foottball games and around town. My husband and I ran into him about two weeks ago in WalMart. He greeted me as he always did, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We had a great talk, as we always did.

I am praying for Angie, Christie and Tony today, and will continue to pray for them and for all of their family. I am also praying for the young man who was in the other vehicle, too. This tragedy has touched many people in our small town. The people here will embrace these families and comfort them the way they did for us when we lost our daughter. That's what the people here do.

I'll miss you, Eric. I pray Lauren was there to greet you and thank you for being a good friend to her mom. You were a special person. You showed through your life what a man should be - strong, courageous, loving and caring toward others. You were a role model for how a husband should love his wife and how a father should love his children.

I'll always remember you.

"Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen."

Instant Replay!

Hi- Yesterday the Gospel reading at Mass recounted the story of the Good Samaritan. It reminded me of a story from my childhood. My mother did her share of "preaching" to us, but showed us a lot by her example through her compassion for others, and most particularly for people who were poor or downtrodden. While she was not a "church-going" lady, and was a bit of a Bohemian, she was still as good as gold. Her birthday is coming up in a couple of days, so I thought today would be a good day to share this story again - LaJuan

The Samaritan Towel

Mama loved that towel. It sat in a place of glory along the back dash of her baby blue 61 Ford Fairlane and we were not allowed to touch it. Even on cool summer nights sitting in the back seat when she drove with all four windows down. We better not touch that beach towel.

It was all different shades of blue set in a mosaic pattern. Blue like her eyes and like her car. Her favorite color. For some reason, she thought it dressed up her car.

Mama was a waitress in a small, but popular diner in Spartanburg. In those days, waitresses wore starched white uniforms that made them look like nurses almost. Mama never left the house unless her uniform was bright and clean, her hair was all in place, and her make-up was immaculate. She looked like a million dollars when she left for work every day.

One day as she drove along Hwy 176, she was past Pacolet, and approaching Glendale when she noticed a figure lying on the opposite side of the road. People were passing him by and not stopping. Not being able to stop in time, she turned around and went back to see if he was ok. When she got there she realized why no one was stopping.

There was no blue on the man lying there. Only the brown of his chocolate colored skin and the red from the blood that had soaked through his clothes from the wounds. She knelt down and realized he was still alive. In a flash, she decided what to do. She ran to the car, grabbed the beloved towel and covered him with it. Telling him to hang on, she ran across the road to her cousin's roadside stand and called the police and ambulance. She called her boss and told her she'd be late. Then she went back to wait with the man. Her towel was no longer clean and blue, and her uniform no longer starched white.

Once the ambulance came, she turned back, went home changed clothes and went on back to work. As the months went by, she never worried about her towel anymore. We did wonder what happened to the man.

That could have been the end of this story, but it wasn't. A few months later, there was a knock at the back door. When I went to the door, there was a family standing there. The lady held a beautiful chocolate cake, and the man held a towel with all different shades of blue set in a mosaic pattern. The two kids looked scared to be there. I called for Mama to come.

The man started to thank her, and Mama stopped him short. "Our friends come to the front door," she said. When the man started to protest, she repeated her statement and closed the door. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the front door and there they stood. She invited them in, and made a pot of coffee for the adults to enjoy with their chocolate cake. The kids all had milk and cake.

I never knew the man's name. I never saw him again that I can remember. The only thing I remember is that my mama loved that towel, but not so much that she would not stop to help a stranger, no matter who he was.

Message from a friend...

I had a message from my friend Rick today. We knew each other before he suffered the loss of his Kayla, but became much closer after her tragic accident.

Just like us, Rick and his wife had two beautiful children. We had known each other professionally, but not personally. When I heard about Kayla, I wrote a letter to Rick and ever since then, we have become very good friends. We see each other at events pretty regularly. I have only had the chance to meet his lovely wife once, but Richard and I see Rick pretty often. 

The message he sent me was about a mutual friend of ours who lost his battle to cancer today. It just so happens that this gentleman, who was Rick's friend, married a good friend of mine two years ago. My friend had mentioned to me in passing that her new husband lost his young son in a car accident, but it had happened more than 20 years ago. I never got a chance to talk to my friend's husband, and I always wanted to. 

Rick had visited our friend the day before he died. He did not know whether I knew about his having lost a son so long ago. His words were simple, but profound. "A reunion has occurred." 

A reunion has occurred. Wow. I replied that I was jealous of that reunion and I am. I told him that my longing for heaven is sometimes overwhelming to me. Then I remember my son and daughter-in-law and my husband and chide myself for being selfish. 

I think it is selfishness on my part to some extent, but I think it is also the longing of every Christian to go home to be with the Lord.  

St. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:2 “For in this tent we groan, longing to be further clothed with our heavenly habitation.”

He continues, “So we are always courageous, although we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yet we are courageous, and we would rather leave the body and go home to the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5: 6-8.

This weekend I will try to console my friend in her loss. Although she was only married for a couple of years to this man, I had never seen her happier. I hope she remembers that even though their time together was brief, she made him happy in his last years here on earth. 

My prayers for everybody else

I was thinking about my blog today, and wondering what to write about.

Something that bothers me a bit is that while I write this blog for everyone, I really do feel called to help grieving parents. The realization came to me that I probably make a lot of people nervous. I mean, my experience is most parents' nightmare. I feel so sorry for everyone I know, really. They know what happened to me and I know it is hard for people sometimes when I share experiences for them.

I have said that I wouldn't wish my experience on my worst enemy if I had one. I also said I pray that no one else has to go through what I went through. I know that seems unrealistic. But I still pray because I believe what Jesus said in Matthew 19:26... Jesus looked at them and said, "For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible." That leaves me with the hope that none of the people I love will ever have to go through my experience.

I am so thankful for my friends and my co-workers (who are also, thankfully, my friends), and for their patience and understanding toward me. I am so grateful that they let me share about Lauren even if they never met her, and they understand my need to keep her memory alive. I am really sorry if it makes people realize that great fear in their own lives.

If I could give other parents any advice on how to deal with that fear, I would. I don't know how to cope with it still. I worry about my son every day like I have since the day I knew he was on the way. I will worry and fret for his safety every day, until I am too old to realize it, or I am gone home. That fear never goes away. Even after losing a child, I still face the same fears every parent faces every day.

All I tried to do with my kids is what I hope every parent does. I taught them about God and His Son. I tried to set as good a Christian example for them as I knew how. I took them to Mass every Sunday, and holy day of obligations, and made sure they made their Sacraments. I prayed for them and tried to shield them from things that would cause sin to come into their lives.  I taught them to take responsibility when they did wrong, and how to say they were sorry to the one they hurt and to God.

I know at least some of those things stuck because many people told me of the little acts of love and kindness they experienced with Lauren, and I see the wonderful young man my son has grown into. He is kind to other people and loves his wife and his family and friends fiercely. He gives back to his community when he is able, and has a heart for those who are not as fortunate as he is.

I believe that Lauren is with our Lord now, and I pray that I will one day be there too. For now, I will pray for peace, and for safety and good health for everyone else.

I'm only human

When I was visiting my brother last March, he said something in jest that stuck with me. He said, "I love humanity, it's people I can't stand!" While it made me laugh, it struck a chord with me too. I think we all feel that way sometimes. There are certainly days when I feel that way, even though I know that is not what we are called to do.

The truth of the matter is, if you think about it, people are what make up humanity, so people are what we should love. All of them. That's a tall order for anybody. It's a struggle we all face every day. All day.

The thing I tried hardest to instill in my kids, (and to live it myself), is to employ the old adage, "You can't judge a book by its cover." Of course what might immediately come to mind in these days and times would be not judging a person by the color of their skin, or their accent, or their difference in culture from ours - but while that is part of it, that is not what I am talking about exactly. I'm talking about our everyday dealings with the people around us, strangers, friends and family alike.

We all know that looks can be deceiving. The person you think you can love (just by looking at them) will turn out to be the one who treats you the worst. The person the world deems "unloveable" can turn out to be the sweetest soul you will ever come in contact in.

Last week when we were traveling, we were waiting to board our plane from Memphis to Atlanta. There was a young African-American girl there - very tall and thin and covered with tattoos and piercings. She was dressed in atrocious clothes that were two low, too tight and too short. If she had been my daughter, I'd have never let her out of the house dressed that way. she was, under all that, quite lovely, however. I did not realize she had even noticed me, as she had her phone in her hand and earphones in her ears.

During the boarding process, I got separated from Richard for a minute and as we got to the door, she stepped aside to let me through the door first and softly said, "You go first, ma'am." I thanked her of course. I was really taken by surprise, to be quite honest. Her gesture was gracious and unexpected, and it gave me cause to reflect on the goodness there is in people. It was a simple gift she gave to me that day, but it gave me cause to think about loving people just for the sake of loving them.

This past week, I watched two Italian movies- One was "Therese of Liseiux" and the other one was "St. Clare and St. Francis." They were both excellent and I learned a lot. The film about St. Francis was  quite enlightening to me.

Francis was raised in a family of means and his father gave him anything he wanted. He gave it all up for Jesus. When he saw the lepers, the most unloveable of all, his heart was moved with pity and the love of Jesus flooded into him. He walked among the lepers and embraced and kissed them, much to the chagrin of his father and his townspeople. He changed and has become to some, the most beloved saint. He is probably one of the most recognized saints, even among non-Catholics.

Watching that movie gave me some insight into why the Holy Father would chose the name Francis, and why he lives and preaches as he does. He, like Francis of Assisi, has a lesson to teach about holiness and unconditional love.

Fr. Dave O'Connell, the priest from whom I learned my catechism, and who confirmed me, taught me that we must let others see Christ in us. If Christ is in us, we must love as He did. It's a tall order, and one I fail at every day.

I am endeavouring to love as I should- to love the people who make up humanity.

It's that time again

Just when I think can handle May, it sneaks up on me to let me know I can't. I start hearing about things like graduations and Mother's Day and it starts to get hard all over again. I really should expect that, but I guess it is wishful thinking that I can get through it without a struggle. I can't.

This past Thursday was the ninth anniversary of Lauren's death. I struggled hard to get through that day.  I always fool myself into thinking that it will "be easier this year." It won't.

The good news is that even though I struggle, God provides me with support through the special people he has placed in my life. My sweet daughter-in-law sent me a text out of nowhere to tell me I was in her prayers. She sent one to my husband too. Then my husband surprised me with a beautiful vase of flowers at work. I posted those flowers on Facebook and my folks came a runnin'! They flooded me with messages of love and support and lifted me up. That didn't surprise me.  My sweet friend Dawn messaged me and made me feel so much better.

On Friday, Richard and I had the honor of attending the Rotary Club Scholarship luncheon to meet this year's recipient of the scholarship named in Lauren's memory. She won the scholarship two days before her death. It was a cash scholarship, so we returned it to the Rotary Club. Lauren had written an essay to win, and the second runner up was Lauren's best friend Brittany. Two weeks after we had attended the luncheon with Lauren, we attended it with Brittany. (Brittany, incidentally, is the mother of Lauren Grace, who was named in our Lauren's honor. We got to spend time with that precious family and hold little Lauren Grace last weekend!)

Last night we spent the evening with Dawn, our dear friend Michelle and my goddaughter Lacy and her brother Owen. Even though we waited forever at the restaurant, the company was exceptional.

Today was Mayfair in our little town. Nine years ago, it was the last thing Lauren and I did together. She and I had quite a wonderful day there that Saturday. It took me about 3 years to go back to Mayfair, but now it seems to bring me comfort to go and see friends there! My little godson John Thomas always runs up to me and gives me a hug whenever he sees me and today was no exception. He brings great  joy to my heart. I saw two of Lauren's classmates pushing their babies in their strollers today, and another classmate who has recently moved back to town walking with her parents. It was so sweet to see them again.

One of the highlights of the day was to see our Suzy, who lives next door. We are "Mammie and Pappy" to her. She is a sweet, sweet baby!

Last weekend we celebrated Mother's Day early with my son and daughter -in-law. They were unable to come up this weekend, but we had a wonderful time shopping and just spending time together!

Tomorrow is Mother's Day and I will celebrate with my church family as I do every Mother's Day. Although that fateful day 9 years ago fell on Mother's Day, it will be ok because I will be surrounded by the love of my friends, who are like family!

Lauren Grace and me.

My godson John Thomas and me.

Richard and me with Mallory, the 2013 scholarship winner, Kimbrely, the 2009 winner,
Bobbie, Mallory's mom and Parke, the Rotary president. 

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.