The season of Grace

Yesterday we celebrated Easter. Our house, Mike's house was full, of laughter, people, joy, the smell of ham and cheesy potatoes, chocolate candy and wine.  We came together to acknowledge the season of grace. It was the day that signaled the end of lent and the beginning of renewal. Forty days of no sweets(Monica and her Mom), no TV, (Marty and I) and one week of traditions involving church. The front yard was the scene of a no holds barred game of kick ball. The rules were scarce, no score was kept, but when the ball was kicked, everyone and I mean everyone was running. Some to bases, some anywhere they felt like. No one gave up, there were no tears and only one near injury when the kickball somehow ended up slamming into the picture window 1/32nd of an inch above my head. Hmmmm.....

Then there is this: Three years ago I left a local store and started across the parking lot to my car. As was my habit in those days, I walked fast and made no eye contact with anyone. I tried as hard as I could to do everything with as little social interaction as possible. As I was nearing my car, I glanced up and saw my local parish priest walking towards me. I smiled and continued on, I may have even picked up my pace, my goal was to get to the safety of my car as fast as possible. I failed. He turned and called my name out loud, I had no choice but to turn and acknowledge him.   For weeks this man and I had played a game of "I contacted you and missed and you contacted me and missed." I had not had a conversation with him since he had presided over the last Holy Mass of my Son's life. Oh, he tried. I didn't. He said "I drive out to your house and no one is ever home", I said"we are at Mike's, please come there". He would call and say, "I tried to visit, you were not home", I said "come to Mike's". I am not sure who was avoiding who. He knew where Mike's house is, he also knew I was a hard person to visit. That day in the parking lot, he asked me how I was. I started to cry. He said"I don't see you in church", I said "I don't go". He asked me why and this is what I said "it is the last place". Father Tim was a man who tried very hard to connect. It wasn't natural for him. He held strongly to catholic theology yet tried very hard to accommodate and accept a changing congregation.  He made allowances for us when Mike died that I know were difficult for him to endure. He was a strong traditionalist. I am a traditionalist too. I love everything about the ceremony of the Catholic mass, it comforts me to hear the same scripture read over each year. I love the smell of the incense and the ringing of the bells. It was the last place to honor Mike through readings, songs and prayers. It was the place his Dad and his sisters and I said our last public words. It was the place that everyone that loved Mike gathered for the last time. It held more grief, more tears, more pain and more love than any place on this earth. It was "the last place", the last. When I said those words, Father Tim didn't try to pretend he didn't know what I meant. He said "if you can't come there, you must go somewhere, you need God's grace."  He reached out and placed his hand on the top of my head. In the middle of the parking lot on a sunny spring day he once again broke through tradition, he said out loud the words I've heard since I was a child, he moved his hands in the sign of the cross and he blessed me.

This is what I know: I had to look up "Grace" in the dictionary. I always thought I knew what it meant. I was wrong. It is defined as "unmerited favor". God"doing good for us that we don't deserve." Father Tim was right. I needed God's grace. I had lost sight of the church as a whole. It had become for me only, "the last place". I needed time and distance to find my way back. That building housed the most personal and private act of my life. The reaching up and closing of Mike's casket. I had given birth to Mike in the presence of about 5 people. I looked at his face for the last time surrounded by hundreds. It took me three years to understand when you are born, you have yet to be defined. When you die, a piece of you belongs to many. They were all there.
 On Palm Sunday, I stood in the room alongside the church waiting for the Mass to begin. It was the same room where I physically saw Mike for the last time. It was hard and the memories were strong but I wasn't alone. Mike stood beside me just as he has everyday since he left. I was there looking for grace, that I don't deserve, but still hope to get.

Mike and I shared a love of Willie Nelson songs. Not necessarily the same songs.
My favorite:

I knew someday that you would fly away

For loves the greatest healer to be found.

So leave me if you need to, I will still remember

Angel flying too close, to the ground.

Fly on, fly on, past the speed of sound.

I'd rather see you up, than see you down.

Leave me if you need to

I will still remember.

Angel flying too close to the ground.

Willie Nelson

I will spend the rest of my life searching for Grace. The "last place" has now become what is really was all along. The best place to hope for Grace.

till next time.