Precious Life ...

Sometimes it takes the saddest and hardest events in life to shock us back to what is really important.

Last Thursday, April 19, a dear friend and fellow choir member suffered the bursting of a cerebral aneurysm, and she died early Saturday morning, April 21.  She was only 48 years old.  But, oh what she packed into those 48 years!  She experienced life with full enthusiasm. She took care of family and friends to the extent that she made it her personal mission to be custodian to many. She loved to travel, and she spent many hours in her car driving from place to place. She was in Colorado when she passed away, and it took several days for her to return home. Another choir member said, “Well, that’s just Stacy.  She’ll need to stop off several other places on her way home.”  This is so true.  Stacy loved Facebook, and I would be totally worn out and fatigued just reading her posts when she would be on one of her traveling jaunts.  Certainly no grass grew under her feet.

If there are lessons I learned from my friend, Stacy, they would have to be centered on just taking time for others and being available.  Stacy didn’t "work", and I used to think how much easier it must have been for her to be in so many different places. But now on thinking this through in more depth, I’m not sure it was a time issue, but more an issue of just making herself available.  Yes, I work.  I work more than 40 hours per week, so I do have a time restriction during those work hours. But I can still be available.  Available with a smile, available with a hug, available with a quick call to encourage, console, or for a quick “hello and thinking of you.”  I can be more available to schedule and plan events with my friends. Available to “step out of the box” and experience new things.

When someone so young, and with so many more opportunities “to do things” passes, it causes pause and reflection of how life is being spent. Stacy had recently posted on her Facebook, “Since none of us really know when the end of our journey is coming; love, laugh, and live like there is no tomorrow.”

Yes, Stacy, Life … Precious life.  God bless you and keep you.

Meet the Flood's

Isn’t it strange how we meet folks?

My Mother was always diligent about keeping flower arrangements on my Father’s headstone. She would make sure that Daddy’s grave site had Christmas flowers and Easter flowers.  Since Mother wintered in Florida, and my sister lived out-of-town, I was responsible for his birthday fresh bouquet in February, his green carnations for St. Patrick’s Day, and a purple arrangement for Lent. That would take us through the period from after Christmas right up to Easter, and Mother would take over from that point.

In March 2005, Easter was on March 27. The Saturday before Easter, Holy Saturday, Mother took me to the cemetery to see the arrangement she had placed on Daddy’s headstone. She was so happy with the outcome of the arrangement. She had worked directly with the florist to ensure that it was unique and had all the lovely spring colors that she and Daddy had always loved.  Little did she know, that she had picked out the flowers that would be part of her own headstone.  You see, Mother died very suddenly the Wednesday after Easter that year. She had placed those flowers on Daddy’s grave on March 24, and on April 1 she had been lovingly placed in her final “earthly” resting place. Note that I say “earthly” resting place. She and Daddy’s final resting place is in Heaven with our Lord.

After Mother’s death, I began visiting the cemetery daily or at least several times weekly. Within about the first 2 to 3 weeks, and after a quite fierce storm, I noted that the flower arrangement on the headstone was no longer in place. When I glanced around the immediate area, I saw an arrangement across the narrow road up against another tombstone.  I walked over to check it out, and I was almost 100% sure that it was my parent’s flower arrangement.  I picked it up and turned to take it back to my parents' grave. Then I had this terrible sensation that it might not be the one my Mother had so diligently picked out, and really did belong to the folks where it lay.  I looked at the name on that tombstone and the name was “Flood”.  It was a rather broad tombstone.  Not knowing the “right thing” to do, I said out loud, “Mother, I’m sorry if I am giving away your flowers, but I’m just not sure, so I will buy you and Daddy a new one.”  Then I placed the wayward floral arrangement atop the “Flood’s” tombstone.

It has been amazing to me that in the 7 years since that time, I have placed numerous arrangements on Mother and Daddy’s grave site. Some have lasted until they have faded and appear worn, and others have disappeared within a few days to weeks of being placed. But the “Flood’s” arrangement has never budged from that tombstone. 

I shared this story with a friend of mine, whose parents are buried in the same cemetery.   She, too, began to check out the “Flood’s” grave site. Together we would watch this same worn out arrangement placed atop their tombstone.  One Memorial Day, during the Mass held in the cemetery, the priest presiding remarked that he felt one of the saddest things was an unkempt grave. My friend, who was attending the Mass, immediately thought of the “Flood’s”.  So now, between the two of us, we have begun to maintain that grave site.

We have often wondered why no one ever came. Then we found the probable reason. We finally truly read their tombstone. There are 6 people buried at this site. Three on one side and three on the other side of the marker.  Their dates of death are, on one side 1937, 1910, 1939.  On the other side 1925, 1975, 1963.   I believe this little family may all be gone.  Five have last names of "Flood" and one just says "A Friend".  How special is that?

My friend and I will continue to place arrangements for the “Flood’s”.  We now feel a bond with them.  Maybe one day, we will all meet in Heaven.  It is indeed strange how we come to meet folks.

This Most Holy Friday

It is the holiest of Friday's for Christians. This last Friday in Lent ... this most holy Good Friday.  The color of the Bishop's, priest's, and deacon's vestments are in reverence to His blood.  The cloth draped over the cross for veneration the same sacred color.  When I come forward for the Veneration of the Cross, bow, and kiss the cross, it is truly the most solemn of actions in my Catholic heritage.

It is not about the fish fries or whether I've been able to hold true to my fasting of choice during these 40 days of Lent.  It is the culmination of the last 40 days of prayer, meditation, reflection, and renewal of my baptismal promise.

I remember as a child the Passion of Our Lord being read on Good Friday.  I remember the shifting from foot to foot and wondering if the priest would ever come to the end of the story.  Thankful that it was only read during this one period of time throughout the year. Glad, when at the end, he finally would say, "The Passion of Our Lord."  As a child was it even possible to understand what we had just heard?  And, as an adult, is it possible to absolutely comprehend the love that drives our salvation?  So often we get caught up in the mysticism of our faith, and we forget that this was a man in flesh and blood, with a mother and father, and friends who loved Him.  This man, made to carry the burden of His cross, and suffer unbearably so our sins could be forgiven. 

I find myself trying to stretch this into a longer written piece, when in reality I am not even worthy to approach this subject.  I will leave it where it is, and on this holy Good Friday, when I see the Bishop, priest, and deacon enter the church in their vibrant red vestments, my mind will be on the prayerful lyrics of a beautiful song written by Timothy R. Smith, "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross"...

"See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down!  Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?"   ... "Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."