A fascinating man, much of his "story" remained hidden to me as a child because he was the typical, traditional, overbearing "Pater Familias" of the mediterranean family--- the patriarch, the central figure, the One who draws the Line.
My memories of him as a child are sparse and frankly, mostly terrifying. He was a deeply intellectual, deeply contemplative family man and I was a runaway teenager who had an itch to experience ALL the world had to offer. We definitely had some rough spots, beginning when I was very young. But as time went by, I began to associate him (and my grandmother) with everything I love about life and family. Celebrations, holidays, heritage, godliness, kindness, charity, hard work, etc. When I recieved Christ into my life at 18, I began to see the empire he was building for the Kingdom, and it was vast.... and I only glimpsed it before his passing.
One of my final memories of him, as I've said before, is of massaging his feet when he was really nearing the end. We had moved his bed from the hospital to the house and since it was supposedly only a matter of days, we wanted him there to celebrate my cousin Claire's wedding. Though he couldn't participate, his bed was placed downstairs so all could come in and out and toast him, say hi, and sit and chat for a while. And he could hear the festivities from behind the curtains.
In this way I found myself, when it was my turn to "keep watch with him," massaging his feet and being really moved... thinking about how many things these feet had done and how many places around the world they had been.
During that time, he and I shared our last conversation, he opened and closed it with a joke, but right in the middle were some of the most profound words I had ever heard in my life.
You see, at the time, I had to wonder and worry about his salvation. He had his rosary, and an icon of the Virgin Mary, and I knew neither one of those things would get him into heaven. Nevertheless, he was at peace, and he loved Jesus, and so I went by my own personal feelings about his faith and found comfort in the fact that "though he was a Catholic," God was merciful and kind. During that conversation, he also reminded me of three things:
First, that I needed to always write, and keep writing, and never stop writing, because that was my gift.
Second, that he hoped that our family, the family I knew and grew up with, had something to offer me and my children.
And third, that I should love God, and adore Him only, and serve Him only.
Those three things have been the cornerstone of my life's experience... and the "whole" of life's joys for me. I imagine it pained him greatly that I wanted to be a protestant.Earlier that year we had buried his sister who was a deeply religious and devoted woman. His other sister was a nun with the Little Sisters of Jesus who also was deeply prayerful for my faith when I walked away from the Church:
His brother was the family priest, and my mother's godfather, who had a profound effect on her life. These people were not just Catholics, they were WHOLLY devoted to the Lord, giving their all for the conversion of sinners and the salvation of the world. I know what their faith was like because I saw it lived out. It was real.
Since returning to the Church, I've often been moved to tears to think of the numbers of rosaries that have been prayed for my return... by my grandmother, yes, but also by my grandfather, my aunts and uncles. And those who have passed on, whose prayers approach the throne of God.
The day I REALLY grasped the concept of the communion of saints was the day I recieved Christ in the Eucharist and was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation that I was united, in that moment, with Jesus, with ALL the saints, with my living grandmother in France and my dead grandfather in heaven or purgatory and that we were all ONE in Christ. Since that time I have often felt his presence near to me, which is a totally new experience for me. It used to be that dead people were just GONE FOREVER... but I could swear that there have been several times in the past few months when dead loved ones, particularly my grandfather, have been there.
November, of course, is the month where we celebrate and remember our loved ones who have passed on, and it just so happens that the anniversary of his death is in November. Aside from remembering him in prayer and through having masses said for him, I also took the time this year to think alot about the heritage he has left me and thank him for it.
In doing so, I stuck a picture of him in my breviary for last month-- one which was of my family gathered around his deathbed, toasting him, and he being too weak to drink the toast but simply happy to be surrounded by those who loved him. Above his head was an icon of the Blessed Mother. And all month long, I hoped secretly that my grandmother, when she passes, will let me have that icon which was with them both through so many difficult times.
I have said before that it was Mary who helped bring us back to the church, and this is something that I think will bother protestants, so I would like to not dwell on it too much except to say this: If I ever had any doubts as to the special presence of the Blessed Mother in God's Kingdom economy and in my life, they evaporated today when I got my mail.
In it was a shoebox with tape wrapped around it, and inside the box was a set of two icons... both of which I had secretly hoped my grandparents would leave me: the one which sat above their bed and the one which sat above his head when he passed. I had never said a word, but God knew my heart and what I wanted to remind me of His great love for me, and in a special way He spoke to me--- at the very beginning of this advent season when I'm really getting to know her through her actions during Advent and her "FIAT"-- that beautiful "yes" to God that I so want to imitate always---- that Mary is my mother by sending her to me in a way that couldn't be more personal or more meaningful to me. She is really HERE! And it's all God's work in my life, drawing me nearer, teaching faith, hope and the greatest of these three: love. Who better to teach us love than a mother?
She brought me back into perfect unity with God's Church on earth, She brought me into a more perfect union with Christ through the Eucharist and the sacrament of Confession, She brought my husband and I into a true union as celebrated our marriage on a feast day that honors her, She brought my children to Christ by appearing to Annika-Marie holding baby Jesus and through her prayers we experienced a miracle when we prayed on a rosary blessed by her at medjugorje for Annika's healing when she broke her arm, She brought me to Carmel, which has forever changed my prayer life and drawn me deeper into the heart of God, she brought my husband to the Church and gently brought him to a closer walk with Christ, and now here am I am amazed and shamed and broken and filled up and just more in love with God than I ever was before.
A year ago, I never could have imagined this picture making sense.... but now I know that there are greater things at work here than just the box I like to put God in. He is so merciful.
Holy Mary, mother of the Word Incarnate, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
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